It's All About Family
by InKsPoT1941
Summary: FINAL CHAPTER IS UP - IT ALL ENDS HERE, FOLKS. Hades tries to reconnect with Persephone in modern-day New York 4,000 years after the battle on Mount Olympus. Of course, things aren't going to be that simple, and after 4,000 years of waiting, there's a whole other set of issues Hades has to deal with than just Demeter. Namely, war.
1. My World - It's Crashing Down Around Me

A/N: Okay guys, so this is the sequel. It's going to be a bit different from the last story in that it will be narrated in first person perspective by three different characters, those being Hades, Persephone and my OC, Jim. I am going to keep the rating teen, because I know that you know that most teenagers do in fact talk like Jim, and when he narrates there is going to be plenty of cursing. However, I've read many YA books that contain lots of cursing, particularly if the character is like our good old boy Jimmy, here. You'll see what I mean when you start to read. If it really bothers people, I will change the rating – but really, the cursing is only going to be heavy when he narrates. There is no Persephone narration in this chapter, but rest assured that that is in fact coming. This chapter very Jim-centric, however, because I need to establish the character. Some of you will not like that I know – but this is really truly a sequel to the last story, so it is a romance. However, once again, I want to do something different. I believe the character of Jim will allow me to explore a different type of relationship that was not shown in a positive light in the last story. I'm sure you can figure out what sort of relationship I am talking about as the story progresses. Anyways, that's enough of me talking, on with the show!

* * *

HADES

"We've found her, my lord," Hecate says, bowing low.

I jump out of my throne, nearly falling when my bad leg gives out from underneath me. I manage to balance myself in time though, and calmly sit back down. Well, as calmly as I can, anyway. Four millennia, and we've finally found her. Four millennia of loneliness, of waiting, desperately, of giving up hope only find resolve once again, and we have finally found her. _Finally_.

"…Where?" I ask, and my voice comes out raspy and raw. _Persephone_.

"In America, my lord. Brooklyn, New York." _I'll see you again_.

"What is her name, Hecate? Tell me what her name is."

"She was born as Cora Wells. She is 31 years old, currently trying to attend a university; Demeter has made getting close to her and learning any new information very, very difficult-"

"I will leave immediately," I say, my heart pumping with excitement.

"I wouldn't advise that, my lord." I turn to look at Hecate, my steadfast friend and adviser. "And why not?" I ask her, genuinely puzzled.

"You do not know the culture, my lord – and you need to be inconspicuous while looking for her, else Demeter will learn of your presence and bring your whole plan crashing down."

"So what are you suggesting I do?"

She bows her head. "Become accustomed to the culture, my lord; learn the language and style of dress. You have waited this long; you can stand to wait a little longer to do this right."

I frown. "I suppose you are right." I want to see her again, to hold her…but my waiting will all be for nothing if I do not do this right. I nod and puff out my chest. Yes, I will learn the language and dress of this country, as my brothers have already done in their lascivious ways, partying and drinking in this realm of North America.

"There's one more thing, sire," Hecate says. Her tone doesn't sound pleased.

"What is it?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"She has a son."

And that's it. My world. It's crashing down around me. Again.

* * *

1 Year Later

JIM

"Happy birthday, bud. Today is the day you become an official Black Bullet member, kiddo. Today, yer going to kill someone. Are ya ready, Jim? When you yer done, me and the boys will take you to our favorite place and get you some pussy. Maybe if you do it real fast, we'll get you some ice, too. A nice little bag of blue, like in_ Breaking Bad_."

"I'm ready," I say. Really, I am. I take a drag from my blunt, and the familiar burning sensation in my throat calms my nerves. I've been preparing for this day for months. I know how to shoot a gun, and I know that I can beat the living hell out of someone without much effort. That's why Alex decided to take me under his wing. The guys in the gang all call me "Little Slugger". That works, I guess. Alex found me in juvie about a couple of years back when I had run away from home…and I stole my mom's car to do it. The cops found me, though, after I tried to steal a couple of Twinkies from a 7/11 in Queens a couple of days later. Long story short, the judge made me go to juvie for a couple months, plus house arrest for six more months when I got home. The system is fucked, let me tell you. They send you in for making a stupid mistake, and you come out a hardened criminal. I've just learned to stop giving a shit altogether.

So anyways, one day this kid comes up to me with a shiv he made out of a plastic spoon. I guess he figured that guys in prison do it, so why shouldn't he? And this kid was big, too. Looked like he weighed around 300 pounds and he was like six foot three. I heard that he was in for almost killing his dad in a fist fight. I kind of... liked him for that. Anyways, he comes up to me, tries to stick the thing in my belly, and I just punch the guy once, just once, right in the face,and he just fucking collapses in front of me. The guards told me later that I dislocated his jaw, and that the kid got a huge concussion. My hand didn't hurt after I hit him. But I've always been strong like that; stronger than my classmates, faster than them too. Hell, teachers even told me that my high school entrance test scores were higher than everybody else's. Imagine their disappointment when they found out that I was lazier than everybody else, too. So when Alex, 17 year old Alex, high ranking member of the Black Bullet gang, asked me to come join, I figured, fuck it – it's not like my dad ever gave enough of a shit about me to stick around, so why should I give a shit in return? Alex, he's different. He's like a brother to me. He taught me how to fight, how to shoot, how to pick locks. He became my mentor, and after a while the other guys in the Black Bullet gang became my family.

Today's the day I become a man and officially join that family. I'm ready, I'm ready. I can do this.

"C'mon, Jim – you ain't a chicken, right?" My heart's pumping hard against my chest. Shut up, I'm not a chicken. You'd be scared too if you were about to kill someone. Alex slaps a hard hand on my shoulder and squeezes it. I look at my watch: 6:00 pm. The city is starting to get dark, and the grimy alleyway we're in is making the reality of the situation settle low in my gut. I'm going to kill someone today. I can do this.

Alex smiles at me. " I know ya can do it, Little Slugger. I'll pick out an easy target." I almost feel better that he says that. "Just don't pick out a little old lady," I tell him. I'm not totally heartless.

He grins. "Don't worry. Next guy who comes into our turf, you do it. He's probably a Second Son. We'll all be here if things get out of hand."

I nod, and we start to walk through the alleyways that make up our turf. Most people know not to walk around here at night. This is our neighborhood. A couple of hours pass, and I palm the gun in my jacket pocket. The safety is still on. Shut up.

I check my watch again. 11:00 pm. It's getting late, and I feel my head start to loll back against the grimy alleyway wall when Alex shakes me. "It's time," he says. His voice sounds giddy and my palms start to sweat. One kill, just one kill and I'll have my family. I can do this.

He leads me around to the opening of the alleyway and points to a guy walking with a cane. It's dark, and the guy is wearing black, so I can barely make him out when he walks out of the light of the streetlamps, but he's definitely got a cane. He's fucking limping too. Shit.

"Take him out, Little Slugger."

"You want me to kill a fucking cripple?" Maybe I _can't_ do this.

"You want to be a Black Bullet, don't you? I told you it would be the next guy who came onto our turf."

"But he's a cripple-"

Alex squeezes my shoulder, hard and whispers into my ear. "Do it, Jim. Today is the day you become a man." He's right – today is the day I become a man. I can do this. "Besides," he says, squeezing my shoulder, "If he gives you any trouble, you can always do that plant-thing." Oh yeah, _that_. I guess I forgot to mention that. Ever since I can remember, I've been able to control plants and trees. I never told anyone, except for Alex. Not even my mom. He laughed when I told him, looked at me like I was fucking crazy, but then I had tree roots grow out of the ground around his feet, and he stopped laughing. The other guys in the gang don't know. Just Alex. He smiles at me, squeezes my shoulder again.

"Go get him, Little Slugger."

I nod. I can do this. Kill a cripple, piece of cake. I can do this, I can do this. I'm not a chicken. The guy with the cane stops walking and pulls out a map. He looks lost. He's about 50 feet away. There's nobody else on the street. This is my chance.

He hasn't turned around yet, so I quietly walk up behind him. I'm about five feet away from him when he finally does look back at me. The first thing I notice is his eyes – pale, blue, and piercing. If anybody had ice for eyes, this would be the guy. The second thing I notice is his scar – a jagged, ugly thing that runs from the corner of his forehead between his eyebrows and down to his jaw. That thing must have fucking _hurt_ when he got it. And, even though the guy has a cane, there's somethin' about him that emanates power. It's controlled, but it's like I can feel it brewing just below the surface. It's old and strong – unbelievably strong, and I'm scared. Shut up. _Get him, Little Slugger._ I palm the gun in my jacket pocket. My hands are clammy. I said shut up, dammit! I'm lucky the guy can't get away from me very fast. My heartbeat is rushing loud and fast in my ears. I'm breathing hard. The guy says something and I miss it.

"What?" I ask, my voice cracking.

"I asked you what you were planning on doing with that gun." The guy cocks his head to the side, scratching the short beard on his face. He looks like he could be in his late thirties or early forties. I look down at my hands and realize that I'm holding the gun. It gives me a confidence boost and I smile. I put on my best taunting voice. "What does it look like I'm gonna do, you stupid fucking cripple? I'm gonna blow your fucking brains out!"

The guy just smirks at me. "I doubt that," he says, leaning on his cane. It has a silver skull for a handle. Must be expensive. He's holding a Red Sox cap in his other hand. So this guy has to be a Red Sox fan in New York on top of everything else. He looks like he's about to put it on, too. Fucking cripple asshole.

"Oh yeah? Why is that?" I ask him, my confidence leaving me. My hands on the gun are starting to shake.

He just keeps smiling at me, the bastard. "Well, first of all, the safety is still on," he says, nodding towards the gun, and putting on his cap. I look at my gun. Shit, he's right. How could I be so stupid? Well, that can be easily fixed. I turn off the safety and look back up, and he's fucking _gone_. What the hell? I feel a hard smack on my head from behind and I fall forward. How the hell did this bastard get behind me? I regain my balance and turn around, and I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look over to my left, and he's gone again. How is this guy so fast?

"Psst, over here," I hear him say to my right, and when I look over I see the heavy silver skull handle of the cane heading right towards my face. I try to duck, but the guy still gets me, and the blow sends me flying across the street and into a wall. Holy hell, this guy is fucking strong. I try to get up, my head spins and instead I just end up lying there, with my head on the dirty sidewalk. I see the guy limping towards me, and when he finally reaches me he nudges me onto my back with his cane. I groan, shutting my eyes as the world spins around me.

"Still alive, I see. How very interesting." He sits down beside me with some difficulty and grabs my jaw between his thumb and forefinger, causing spikes of pain to shoot through my head. He turns my head, almost like he's inspecting me. The whole time, I'm wondering why my gang hasn't rushed up and beat the shit out of this guy…and then he tells me this: "Your friends aren't going to help you-" The hell they aren't. I know I can't get much leverage from this position to throw a good punch, but I know I'm not gonna let this cripple take away my dignity, so I take a swing at him, as hard as I can. As soon as the punch hits, I know that my hand is going to break. It's like hitting a wall made of solid steel. I scream and hold my hand, and the guy gets back up onto his legs and rubs his jaw.

"That's quite a hook you got there," he says.

"Fuck you!" I scream. Holy shit, this hurts. "Alex!" I yell. "Alex, help me!"

The guy looks down at me and shakes his head. "I told you that your friends weren't going to come."

"Screw you, asshole!" I scream. I think the bones in my hand have been pulverized. The guy pulls out his map, and his brow furrows. The world starts to spin around me again and my stomach feels like it's going to empty itself of all its contents. I make a groaning sound in the back of my throat and roll over onto my belly.

"Problem?" I hear the guy ask.

"I feel like I'm going to throw up," I say, not bothering to curse at him. "I think you broke my hand." I can't see him, but I'm pretty sure that the guy shrugs. I feel my eyes start to close, but the guy nudges me awake with his cane. "You need to stay awake," he says. "You're concussed." But sleep feels so good right now…

He nudges me awake again. "Do you have a cell phone?" he asks. My mom can only afford one.I tell him, "No." At least I think I do; probably it comes out more like "prrhnoooo". He curses in some weird language. I think it may be Greek, but I'm not sure, with my concussion and all. I start to fall asleep again, and the guy freaking _slaps_ me. "Sthaaaaaaaap it," I say, my words coming out garbled against the concrete. I feel him rifling through my pockets and think he pulls out my wallet. He puts it back, though, which is weird. Probably because I don't have any money in it… He kinda has a pissed expression on his face now when he looks at me again. Like he wants to turn me into ash and dance on top of my ashes. "You need to stay awake," he says again. "I'm quite sure your mother would be upset if you died." His expression softens a little bit, but he still looks really pissed.

"Yeeah, yeah, I know – just let me sleep."

"You're a terrible kid," he grunts, and I feel him start to lift me underneath my arms. The next thing I know, a grown man with a lame leg is giving me a piggy back ride.

"Where is the nearest hospital?" he asks. Where_ is_ the nearest hospital? I can't remember…Oh yeah, Woodhull. "Woodhull...the address is," my mind goes fuzzy as I try to think of the street name. C'mon, c'mon...oh yeah! Got it. "760 Broadway," I tell him. We're actually not _that_ close to it, but it_ is_ the "closest". After some walking – hobbling, really…which is actually making me pretty sick to my stomach – the guy says, "Your friends are idiots." I kind of laugh at that, my head lolling onto his shoulder. "You're one too, James Wells."

"It's Jim, and if you keep hobbling like this, I just might throw up on you, man."

The guy laughs, and it's rough and deep and rolling. "Throw up on me, and I might just kill you, Jimbo." Something about the way he says it tells me that he isn't joking, either.

"Hey, wassyername?" I ask. It comes out slurred, but I figure, hey what the hell – he knows my name. He laughs again. "You can call me Hank," he says, but there's a note of hesitation in his voice as he says it; like he was gonna say somethin' else but changed his mind at the last possible second he could.

"Thasss not yer real name." It's not a question.

He shakes his head and probably smiles, but I can't tell from this angle. "You can't know my real name."

"Why not?" I feel like I'm starting to fall asleep again, but he slaps my cheek and wakes me.

"Because my real name holds power."

And then, a miracle happens – the dude gets a cab. "760 Broadway – we need to get the hospital." Somewhere between getting into the cab and reaching the hospital, I fall asleep, and I don't wake up again for days. At least, that's what it feels like.

The doctors tell me that a guy with dark hair and a cane dropped me off at the hospital – said that my injuries were gang related. They say that I was conscious for all of it, but I don't remember a damn thing, I tell them. That's fine, they say; just a result of the concussion. I don't even remember my mom visiting me, but they tell me that she came in only an hour after I was admitted to the hospital, stayed and talked with me the whole night. Also apparently I'm grounded. For life.

They tell me all this, and I nod and nod. I really can't remember anything except Alex and the guys telling me to get this one guy…I can't remember who, though. It's all blank, all of it. I keep expecting them to visit, but they don't. I get so antsy , thinking that they may have visited, that I might have missed it, so I ask the pretty nurse who comes to check on me. "Excuse me, miss," I say, all suave and cool-like. Shut up – I'm smooth, you'll see, "Has a guy by the name of Alex Jacobs come in to visit? A Lucas Ruiz too, by any chance?" She smiles prettily at me for a moment, and I almost forget what I asked her. "No, sorry, Hun – no Alex or Lucas." I frown and thank her. I can't hide my disappointment. Why wouldn't the guys come and visit me? What the hell happened that night? I want to cry, I want to cry _so_ fucking _bad_. I lost my chance at being a part of a family. I know my mom never came in to visit – the doctors lied to me, I know it. She would never come to visit me because I'm a disappointment - never ever. Dad left her because of me. There's no way in hell she would come and visit me…but the guys would. I know they would. Right? So then why aren't they here now…

I want to cry so bad it hurts – shut the fuck up, okay! I know, I know. But they're my brothers, okay – my friends, my family, and I've wrecked things so bad, I must have. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm such a failure…I can't stand it anymore.

I turn on the TV to get my mind on different things, and as I flip through the channels, I see Alex, his face plastered on the news in an ugly mug shot. What the… I turn up the volume:

"In other news, small time drug dealer and Black Bullet gang leader, Alex Jacobs - age 19 - along with four other members of the gang have been arrested for the murder of two young boys in a gang fight with the Second Sons…" No fucking way. This can't be happening. My brothers. My family…

"Police are saying that the five could face up to forty years in prison…"

And that's it. My world. It's crashing down around me. Again.

* * *

A/N:

Leave your comments and reviews, guize! :p Please? Pretty please?


	2. I Meet a Strange Guy

Chapter 2: I Meet a Strange Guy.

A/N: I'm going to make this clear – Persephone in this story is NOT a virgin. How could she be if she had Jim? I know, I know – how could I- but there's a reason for this, and you'll just have to keep reading to find out why things have happened the way they have in her life. Also, she has been reincarnated – she has no real recollection of Hades at all at this point, and so therefore Jim is not Hades' son. I know that this is controversial, that Jim is not a very nice kid, but just read the story…and maybe you'll see where I'm trying to go with things. His first name has significance, as does his last. I encourage you all to look it up. Bear with me, and I think you'll find a story that you'll find to be pretty satisfying, discounting the numerous typos I make. (Ifyou look at the last chapter, you'll notice that I went back and cleaned up some things ;D). Anyways, enjoy Chapter 2

* * *

Cora (Persephone)

Today was going to be a good day, I had told myself. It was a Friday, the first week of school would be over in a few hours, and Jim and I were going to go out for pizza and a movie for his birthday. I was even going to surprise him by letting him adopt the cat he saw at the shelter a few weeks ago. I had the shelter put the kitten on the holding list – a small gray thing that had crawled right on to Jim when the lady at the shelter opened the cage for him. He looked so happy then, with that small little animal curled in his arms, like he did when he was little. He's always been good with animals. There was a day when I caught him filling a bunch of our soup bowls with milk, and his big green eyes looked up at me, shining and happy. He was a mess; auburn hair covered in milk, along with the rest of his little body. The floor was a mess, too.

"Babe, what are you doing?" I couldn't keep the laugh out of my voice.

"I'm gonna feed the kitties, Momma." His cheeks turned pink and he looked down at the floor. "But I made a mess, didn't I?" His voice came out very serious, in the way that words coming out from toddlers do. I busted out laughing. "You sure did, baby-" he started crying. Uh oh. Time for little kid damage control. I kneeled in front of him.

"What's wrong, baby?" He tried to wipe his cheeks, which were streaming with tears.

"Daddy will be mad, won't he? Then he'll – he'll – he'll leave!" He hugged me tight, crying tears into my chest. "I'm sorry, Momma," he whispered.

"Shhh, baby, everything's gonna be alright." I wiped his small cheeks with my thumbs, and kissed him on his forehead. "C'mon, help Momma clean up. Then we can go see some kitties at the shelter." At that, his mood instantly turned around and he brought out all the paper towels he could. It didn't take us much time to finish cleaning the floor, and when we were done I took him to the shelter. I don't think I've ever seen a happier child in my life, laughing and hugging all the animals he could get his hands on.

He had just turned four.

I smile at the memory of when my son was still happy. It had always pained me that I could never get him a pet, because our landlord would not allow it. After his untimely death a few months ago, though, his daughter had taken over ownership of the building our small apartment was in and decided that small dogs and cats were now allowed. I had been saving up money since then, and I took him to the shelter, hoping to reserve any animal that he seemed to really like. Or any animal that seemed to like him. And when I saw that gray little kitten attach itself to him, I knew that that was the one.

Pizza, movie, and a kitten. It wouldn't be much, but it'd be something. So I had been very happy today, and I didn't hear about any trouble from the school about Jim, which was another good thing. He had been acting out less lately, and it seemed like for the first time in a long time, we were getting along like we used to, before his father left.

I had gotten home around 7:00 and ordered the pizza, expecting him to be home by 7:30 like he said he would after hanging out with some friends. It was around 8:00 that I started to worry, and when he didn't show up by 9:00 I called the police. They spent hours looking for him, and I couldn't sleep the entire night, so when they called me at 2:00 in the morning, I didn't complain. I rushed to the hospital in my cheap little '03 Honda Civic, and when I got there the nurses told me that he had already been checked in.

"Costs have also been paid for. Your insurance will not be charged."

"What." Not the most coherent of responses, I know.

"Your insurance will not be charged for your son's stay here."

I shake my head. How is that even possible? "Why?" I ask.

"Because I told them to charge me," I hear a deep voice say behind me. His voice sounds eerily familiar. I turn around, and see a man leaning on an expensive-looking cane. He has dark and messy hair which hangs in front of his eyes in certain places, as if he's just gotten out of bed and not bothered with combing. He has a bit of a five o'clock shadow going too, from what I can tell. His eyes really get me though. Blue, piercing – and he's staring right at me with them, and I can't tell if he wants to kill me or…well I don't know what, but it can't be good. He has a dark button-down dress shirt and jeans, both of which are wrinkled. His sleeves are rolled up. Despite his overall scruffy appearance, he has a handsome face. Or he would, rather, if it wasn't for that scar…and yet, I feel like I've seen him before. No, I _know_ I've seen him before…but where? He's smiling at me now, and wow, that's a beautiful smile. Who the hell _is_ this guy?

He walks over to me, limping on his cane – I guess it must some sort of injury, since he seems pretty young, in his forties at the latest – and he extends his hand to mine. "Henry P. Underwood," he says.

"Have we met?" I ask, shaking his hand. He's warm.

He smiles at me again, so tenderly that I can't help but feeling like I've seen him before. "What makes you think that, my lady?" he asks. "My lady"? That's…a bit odd…but that also sounds…familiar.

I look into his eyes, searching for something –though for what I'm not sure. "It's just – I feel like I've met you somewhere before," I say. I don't even notice that my hand is still in his until he gives it a light squeeze. I've seen your eyes before…where have I seen your eyes before?

He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses it, which _really_ catches me off guard. His lips linger there, too, when he says, "Perhaps we have, my lady. Perhaps we have," and then he lets me go, leaving me a nervous wreck. What the hell was that? I mean, I'm used to being hit on, but never like _that_. It's like he turned off the switch in my brain that says "run, this guy is a creep" – and that's _scary_ as all hell. He's saying something to me, but my mind is still reeling from what's just happened.

"Sorry?" I ask, trying to get him to repeat what he's said.

"I was wondering if you would like to-"

Just then, a nurse touches my shoulder and tells me that I can see Jim and my heart almost does a somersault. Jim, what did you _do_ this time?

"I'm sorry," I say, walking fast – almost running – to where they have Jim. When I look back at the man, he has his head down, like he's depressed…but then he notices me looking back at him, and he smiles that dazzling smile. I smile back despite myself, and he waves – he almost looks like a little kidd doing it, too, he's so excited - turns, and limps out. I think he whistles as he does it too. Strange guy – but not in a bad way, I guess. Maybe kind of cute. I shake the thoughts of the stranger from my mind as I get closer to my son's room.

When I walk into Jim's room, he's asleep, and I see that he's gotten stitching on the side of his face and a cast for his broken hand. _Oh Jim…_ His eyes open up slightly and he looks up at me. "Mom?" he rasps out. "Shh, babe, go back to sleep. I'm right here." _We can talk about your grounding later._ I don't say it. His eyes close again and I hold onto his hand. I worry about how I'm going to pay for all of this, with my meager insurance and salary, on top of paying for school on my student loans.

Then I remember: the guy with the cane paid for it. Uh oh.

That can't be good.

* * *

A/N:

I hope ya'll liked this chapter. I know that you guys have your concerns about Jim and his rather terrible behavior, but rest assured that there is a reason and plot relevance for this. As always, leave your comments and reviews – they keep me motivated.


	3. This Damn Kid

Chapter 3: This Damn Kid

HADES

When she walks in, I feel like the floor has been taken out from right underneath my feet. She's taller than I remember her being, but it's definitely her. Her green eyes are searching for the register, and her auburn hair swirls in front of her face as she rapidly turns her head in her panicked state. For a second I think she looks at me, and I grip the handle of my cane as I feel my pulse quicken. The hacking and moaning of hospital patients in the emergency room stops, and all I see and hear is her. She begins talking with the woman at the register. After a while, she asks, "Why?" and I respond. She turns around, and gods, she is _beautiful_. My ears are ringing as I take each step towards her, my old scars all _burning_, the one in my leg making it harder to walk than it usually is. Still, I manage to make it to her. I extend my hand, and the ringing in my ears grows unbearably loud. I'm going to touch her; after 4,000 years, I'm going to feel her _life_ pulsing through her veins.

"Have we met?" she asks me, and I almost laugh. _Yes, my love, we have._ I don't say it. She looks at me, and I can see the puzzlement on her face. I want to kiss her, hold her, tell her _everything_ – but I don't. I can't. _Be patient, be still. _I lightly squeeze her hand instead, feeling the beat of her heart beneath my fingers. Before I can restrain myself, I kiss her hand, feeling her soft skin under my lips.

I stay there longer than I need to.

The moment is still too short.

I let her go, and when she looks embarrassed, I can't help but grin. Too soon, she leaves, and I feel myself almost start to panic when she turns her back on me…but then she looks back, and when I smile at her, she smiles in return. I wave, perhaps a little too excitedly, and head outside, where I spot Hecate sitting on a small bench. I hobble over to her and sit down.

"How are you, my lord?" she asks.

"Quite well, now," I tell her, still grinning.

"Do you think she remembers anything?"

I frown. "No… but she did recognize me."

Hecate nods. "That's a start, my lord."

"Indeed." It's not much, but it's something. "How long until Demeter learns that I'm here?"

Hecate looks up into the sky, shuts her eyes. "It's difficult to say, exactly, but with the magical barrier we've put around the city…I'd say about a year."

I scratch my beard. I'm going to have to trim it soon. One year… "Can the Underworld handle my absence for that long?"

Hecate snorts, laughing. "Of course not, my lord."

I feel a sharp pang of disappointment. "Right. Of course. That would be silly…"

She touches my shoulder. "I am only joking, my lord. We've been preparing for this. You are our king, my lord, and we stand beside you." Hecate, that was cruel. I do like that last part, though.

I move to stand up, gripping the handle of my cane. "How is your staff working for you?" she asks, nodding towards the cane.

"It lets me walk," I respond, flatly. "Is the chariot ready?"

She throws me a set of car keys. "What kind of car did you turn it into?"

Her eyes turn up in thought. "…I believe it is a Ferrari f430 Spider. It's black, of course."

I laugh. "You know me so well, Hecate."

She smirks at me. "There are directions to your apartment in the glove compartment. Your chariot horses will get quite restless in that form, so I recommend that you take the car out of the city for a few fast drives a week. Additional funds have also been added to your bank account, so make the most out of them. Also, I've made your helm look like a Yankees cap instead of a Red Sox cap. You're welcome." I didn't even think about the hat. I'll miss the red B.

"How do you know so much about this place?"

She shrugs. "I like the nightlife."

"Thank you-"

She stands up. "There's one last thing you must know, my lord. The barrier will last a year at best, and that's if, and only _if_, you don't use your powers; the city is just simply too large, and the barrier is too weak, to hold. If you change your cane into your staff, or do anything of the sort, except for using your helm, the barrier will be broken, and Demeter will learn of your presence."

Dammit, that's not good. "None at all?"

She shakes her head. "None, my lord." She smiles at me. "Well, maybe just a _teeny_ bit - but it's in your best interest if you try to fit in amongst the mortals. If anything turns up in the Underworld, Thanatos will let you know."

"Thank you, Hecate."

She pats my shoulder lightly. "You're welcome, my lord. Now, go and sweep your queen off her feet."

* * *

I walk into the room with my helm on. The lights are off, and she's asleep, with her head on the boy's bed, her right hand holding tightly onto his. I walk over to her, and brush a loose strand of hair from her face. Her breathing is steady and she doesn't stir when I lean down to kiss her forehead. I know I'm not being patient, but I've waited for so long…So I break my restraint, just a bit, and I lightly brush my lips against hers. I hear a stirring to my right, and I lift my head up.

It's the boy. I feel anger rise within me when I look at him. When I had first hit him – and he didn't die from the blow – I had immediately thought that he was a child of Ares, horrible boy that he is, threatening a cripple like me on the street. Bah. After looking at his face and his wallet, though, I barely kept myself from killing him right there. I wanted to obliterate his body and drag him down to to the deepest part of Tartarus myself.

I knew that Persephone had had a child already, and when Hecate told me the news I nearly brought down my palace in a fit of rage. A year later, I thought that I had come to terms with that fact – Persephone had had a son, and I played no part in it. The logical side of me said that this was only natural; that she didn't remember me, or our ties to each other, and that she was better for having done it, because as ruler of the Underworld I would never be able to give her children. I had come to terms with that.

But then I met her delinquent son, and had I been Zeus or Poseidon, I would have surely killed the boy where he laid, I tell you now. The only thing that kept me from doing so was his face – he had Persephone's eyes, her hair…and I just couldn't. He stirs again, and I hear him say something.

"D – Dad…don't…leave us."

I lean in closer. He really does look very much like his mother. Damn boy. His breathing starts to speed up, and I hear the monitor beside the bed begin to beep rapidly. The boy starts to squirm and thrash, and I see Persephone start to wake. He's going to fall out of the bed. I make it to the other side just in time to catch him, and I notice that he's shaking. Grunting – he's surprisingly heavy, for a demigod – I lift him up and put him back on the bed.

He opens his eyes. Is he awake? I can't tell. "Go to sleep," I whisper.

"Dad?" his voices comes out groggy raspy as his head turns to face me. I sigh. "Go to sleep, Jim." He nods slowly, putting his head back down on the pillow. Damn this boy…

I pull up a chair from the back of the room, setting it beside him. I want to make sure that he won't fall out. I put my cane on my lap and lean my head back against the top of the chair, and I try to close my eyes, but a doctor and nurse rush in, turning on the lights and effectively _blinding_ me. Persephone wakes when the nurse lightly shakes her.

I push myself up and out of the chair before they can trip over me while they run over to check his monitor. After around 10 minutes they decide that the boy is alright, and the nurse returns the chair to the back of the room and turns off the lights while Persephone goes to the restroom. I grunt in frustration and push the chair back to where I had it before. The boy groans again and I roll my eyes. _This damn kid_. He's having a night terror, and Persephone is still in the restroom. He's shaking again, grimacing and I have a sudden, sharp memory of when I still had my curse...and those horrible, sleepless nights. I'm not really sure what I'm doing, but I figure I should do something before he tries to roll out of the bed _again_, so I grab his shoulder, squeeze it, and that seems to calm him down; keeps him steady. "You're fine, Jim," I whisper, awkwardly "You're okay," and I let go. I don't know what else to say or do. After that, Persephone walks out and returns to sit by the bed, and I lean back in my chair, finally falling asleep.

* * *

A/N:

Hope ya'll are liking it. As always, leave your comments and reviews! They really mean very much to me, and help me grow as a writer.


	4. The Trident

Chapter 4: The Trident

Jim

This isn't happening. This isn't real. Alex would never let himself get caught like this. It ain't true – it can't be.

But there he is, bruised and bloodied as all fucking hell in his mug shot. No Dad, no Alex…. No, no, no, no, no!

"This isn't fucking happening!" I scream, tearing at my IVs and kicking off the hospital sheets. "It's a fucking lie!" I can't pull the IVs out, no matter how hard I tear at them, and I feel my arms start to freeze like they're covered in ice. I see black figures crowd around my hospital bed, and their skeletal fingers point at me.

"What – whaddya want?" I ask, my voice quavering. "Who are you?"

They don't talk, but I feel their thoughts all around me. _Murderer, Murderer, Murderer, Murderer._ _Going to Tartarus for your bad deeds. Murderer, Murderer, Murderer._ Tartarus? What the fuck is that? One of their skeletal hands scratch at my chest, tearing the hospital gown and cutting into my skin, and I try to thrash and kick at them but they just end up grabbing my legs and sticking their claws into my flesh there too.

"I ain't a murderer!" I yell, "I never killed anyone!" _Did I?_ I can't remember. Another scratches down my chest, and I scream. "Stop it!" I yell. _Coward, _they hiss back at me. _Murderer. _"I'm not fucking coward!" I scream, " I'm not a fucking murderer!"

_ Coward, murderer. To Tartarus you will go – in Tartarus you will burn. _The hospital bed is ripped out from under me, and I'm falling, falling, falling, falling; down an endless cavern filled with screams of dread and tongues of green fire. _This is it. This is my fate._

And then, somebody catches me, and I feel myself being lifted from my doom.

"Dad?" I ask. It's gotta be him.

"Go to sleep, Jim," I hear him reply. So I do, and when the monsters come back and I feel like my heart is going to burst out of my fucking chest, I know he's behind me with a strong hand on my shoulder.

"You're fine, Jim," he says. "You're okay," and the rest of the night I sleep calmly, 'coz I know he's there.

When I wake up and look at the clock on the wall to my left, it's around 11:30. There's note on my lap and I read it aloud.

_Jim,_

_ Went to work; won't be back until around 5:30. Give Rachel a text if you need anything; I'll see if I can pick it up. I left my phone next the bed. _

_Also, you're grounded. For a long, long time. We'll talk about it when I get back from work at The Trident. If you get bored, I brought a few of your favorite books._

_ I love you,_

_ Mom_

"Well, shit," I say. "I guess dreaming about being grounded was real after all." My eyes move to the bathroom, and I realize that I gotta take a piss really, really bad. I see a chair on the left side of my bed, and I swing my feet over to that side, 'coz I wanna move it to the back of the room. My toe feels like it hits a concrete wall as I bring my feet over the chair, and I hear a noise like someone grunting. My toe feels like it's fucking broken too, now. Fucking great.

The worst part is when the chair fucking _moves_, though; like there's a goddamn _invisible_ person sitting up really fast, and then the chair gets fucking knocked back, like that very same invisible person has just fallen flat on their ass from trying to get up too fast.

"What. The. Fuck."

And I swear to fucking God, I hear a fucking groan coming from that direction, and what feels like hands trying to push up from the edge of my bed. And then, and fucking then – the goddamn note my mom wrote me – it starts to_ float_, up above me, behind me, and through the door … which seems to just magically open.

Damn, I must really have a _bad_ concussion.

Cora (Persephone)

Tips come in slow as I serve late lunches to the customers here at The Trident. I lean back against the wall as I take my five minute break, rubbing my eyes. _God, Jim._

"You doing alright, sweetie?" I open my eyes and see my best friend, Rachel Yanez, smiling at me. I hug her. "Oh Rachel, I was so scared!" I feel like I'm on the verge of crying. "I thought-"

"Shhhh, it's okay, chica. You want me to cover for you today?" I laugh and shake my head.

"I can't let you do that Rach. Besides, working helps calm me down."

She nods. "If you need anything, just let me know."

"I will," I say, smiling at her.

She looks like she's about to get back to waiting on customers, but she stops. "Hey, why don't you serve the customer in the corner booth?" She has a mischievous look on her face.

"What are you up to, Rach?"

She winks at me. "Just do it – he's handsome."

I giggle. "Two, five, eight?"

"Nuh uh, girl – he is a perfect 10 all the way. Check him out for yourself. I call him, "Rugged Amazingness". "

I snort. "You gave him a nickname _already_?"

"Damn right I did. You haven't seen Rugged Amazingness yet – you need to so we can fan ourselves over him."

"Darn it Rach, now I'm curious," I say as I go to peek behind the corner. There's a man sitting in the corner booth, but he's reading the menu.

"I can't see him," I say, frowning.

"Take his order! Go, go, go!" She pokes me every time she says "go". "For womankind, you must go! Prepare yourself though; Rugged Amazingness' amazingness might just make your ovaries to spontaneously combust."

The manager is looking at us now and I put a finger to my lips, trying to be quiet and failing.

"Wish me luck on my mission, Rach," I try to whisper, but it comes out as a giggle.

"Good luck and Godspeed, soldier." She gives me a salute, and I burst out laughing again as I walk over to the man sitting in the corner booth.

"Hello, sir, and welcome to The Trident. What would you like to have?"

Then he puts his menu down, and I feel my jaw drop.

It's guy from the hospital.

The guy with the cane.

"What – what are you doing here?" I sputter out.

The man – Hank, I think he said his name was – shrugs. "I came here to eat."

"You had to come _here_ to eat?" He taps the pummel of his cane, which is leaning on his left leg.

"I was told the place is good." The Trident? _Good_? Now I know you're lying.

"_Are you stalking me?_" I say, low so that only he can hear it.

"What? No!" He shakes his head. "You ran off so fast yesterday – I just wanted to talk about –"

Oh my God, that's right – this guy is paying for Jim's hospital stay. I pinch the bridge of my nose and look back at the manager, who seems to be sneering at me.

"Look, Hayden –"

"Hank."

"Hank. I really appreciate what you're doing, but I really need to get back to work – the manager is going to kill me-"

"Don't worry about the manager," he says, icy eyes flicking towards my boss. "I told him that I needed to speak with you; I will repay any money lost." Seriously, who _is_ this guy? He lifts his hand out to the seat across from him and smiles softly at me.

"Please, Cora, sit," he says. I didn't hear it before, but he has a light accent when he talks. Almost too light to notice, so I can't tell where he's from. I do as he says.

"I'm sitting," I say, crossing my arms.

He runs a hand through his messy hair and clears his throat. His fingers tap the silver skull pummel of his cane, and I think he might be a little nervous.

I wait and wait and wait, but he still doesn't say anything.

"Well….?" I ask, raising my eyebrows and he just smiles at me. This guy is unbelievable.

"What does 'Cora' mean?" he asks, pointing at my name tag with his cane.

I huff in frustration and start to get up. "Look, if you're going to waste my time-"

"No, wait!" he says loudly, touching my hand, and when I look down at him, I once again get that feeling that I've seen him somewhere before. Normally, I would have slapped a guy for presuming he could grab my hand like that, but this time, I don't know... I just... don't. He seems to notice belatedly that he's overstepped his bounds and he immediately lets go.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out, looking at what must be a really interesting stain on the floor. "Please stay – we'll talk it over lunch."

And so we do, and he tells me about how he found Jim on the sidewalk, looking like he had just taken a beating, and how he lifted Jim onto his own back and walked his way over to the hospital until he finally managed to hail a cab. He decided at the hospital that he was going to pay for Jim's stay.

"But why?" I ask him. "Not that I don't appreciate it – it's just, well-"

He leans back in the booth and scratches the stubble on his cheek. "When we were in the cab, your son begged me and pleaded with me not to take him to the hospital – he said it would be too expensive. And of course, I couldn't _not_ take him to the hospital; so took him, and I paid." He shrugs, grimacing as he takes a drink of his coffee. "This is disgusting," he says, wiping his mouth. "I hope you know that this is disgusting."

I laugh. "Believe me, I know."

The food comes, and it's Rachel serving – she winks at me. He –_Hank, his name is Hank_ – Hank puts a huge amount of ketchup on his burger, along with some hot sauce. Oh boy, this is going to be good. I watch with anticipation as he brings the burger to his mouth, bites into it, and gets a big drop of ketchup down the front of his shirt. He curses in what I think is Greek for about five minutes, doing his best to wipe the front of his shirt off. I laugh and then he looks back up at me, and his eyes are big and confused and his expression is just priceless. Then I see that he's got some ketchup on his chin and I laugh even harder. There's no way I'm going to be able to eat my grilled cheese sandwich now.

"It looks like you missed a spot, tiger," I say, and I take a napkin and wipe the remaining ketchup off his face. "There you go, good as new."

"Thank you," he says running his hand through his hair again. "I feel rather silly after that. How will you take me seriously?"

"I won't."

"Wonderful." He sounds upset, insulted even, but he's smiling warmly. Actually, the way he's looking at me…for a second it's really intense, and it makes my heart flutter in my chest. I even forget that his scar – jagged and awful thing that it is – is there. _I know you. What aren't you telling me? _My watch beeps and I have a mini heart-attack. It's 5:00.

"S-sorry, Hank, I have to go. I told Jim I'd be at the hospital by 5:30. I need to get to the subway-"

"I can take you," he says, his voice deep voice getting light in his excitement. I contemplate that idea.

"Hank, we really don't know each other…"

"C'mon," he says, slowly pushing himself up with his cane. "You can pepper spray me if I try anything. Besides, it'll be faster. Maybe." Probably not – traffic in New York sucks…but for some reason, I want to spend more time with this guy. I want to... figure out who he is.

I sigh. "Just to let you know, I have an extra strong pepper spray – it can take out bears; I've seen it for myself."

He smiles. "Noted." He holds out his arm, and his expression is teasing. What do you want me to do,_ take it? _He raises his eyebrows expectantly. Seriously, guy?_ Fine._

I'm going to hate myself for this, but I take his arm, and when I do, I'm pretty sure I hear Rachel scream "Yes!" somewhere in the back. His limp makes walking like this kind of awkward, but all the same I feel... strangely comforted.

When we finally get to where his car is, I feel my jaw drop for the second time today.

"This – this is your car?"

He opens the side swinging doors, and I almost feel like I'm going to faint as he leads me towards the passenger side.

"Hop on in," he says, grinning at me.

Oooh boy. I'm in big trouble, aren't I?

* * *

A/N:

Leave your reviews, my peeps!


	5. A Ride in a Fancy Car

Chapter 5: A Ride in a Fancy Car

HADES

As we get into the car, I can't help but feeling proud of the job Hecate has done. Being the god of riches has its perks, I suppose. From the corner of my eye I see her putting on her seatbelt. I turn on the engine, shift the gear to drive, and we're off. She sits very still as we drive.

"You can relax, you know," I say, tapping my thumbs along the steering wheel as I drive. I should take my own advice.

She laughs, nervously. "Sorry – I've just never been in a car like this before." _You have. _I frown. _It was a chariot then, but still._

"I…really appreciate this actually, Hank. My car's battery died this morning, and I had to have towed…so…. Thanks."

I know I'm grinning. "You're welcome." I turn my eyes towards her and she looks at me.

"What?" she asks.

I smile, turning my eyes back to the road. "Nothing. Would you like to listen to the radio?"

She nods, and I turn on the radio. "What station?"

"…I like 92.1," she says, and I turn the dial. "It's the mix station."

_A real human being/__And a real hero_

She sits up, excitedly. "Can you put up the volume? I like this song." _It __**is**__ rather interesting._ I nod, turning up the volume.

_Back against the wall and odds/__With the strength of a will and a cause/__Your pursuits are called outstanding/ __You're emotionally complex_

"So…what sort of field are you in, Hank?" She's looking at me.

_Against the grain of dystopic claims/__Not the thoughts your actions entertain_

"Field?" The word reminds me of Demeter, and I try not to grimace.

_And you, have proved, to be/__A real human being, and a real hero_

"You know; your job, career?" Oh. I think about it. Hecate told me… "I'm a businessman." The lie comes out easily enough. She still doesn't look satisfied, but she doesn't ask me another question about it.

_Real human being, and a real hero/__Real human being, and a real hero_

I smile, sitting back in my seat. "I like this song," I say. "It's –" I struggle to find the word I'm looking for, for a few seconds… "Cool," I decide. Damn the English language.

"Really?" She looks at me, and from the corner of my eye, I can see that she seems confused. "I took you more for an Iron Maiden sort of guy." Iron what? I nod, trying to keep my eyes on the road.

_A pilot on a cold, cold morn'/__One hundred fifty-five people on board/__All safe and all rescued/__From the slowly sinking ship_

_Water warmer than/__His head so cool/__In that tight bind knew what to do/__And you, have proved, to be/__A real human being, and a real hero_

"…You don't know who they are, do you?"

"…No."

She leans back, finally relaxing in her seat. She looks pensive, but she has a soft smile on her lips. "My dad used to play their music when I was little." I turn my head slightly towards her. I am curious. Another song starts.

_I don't eat/__I don't sleep/__I do nothing but think of you_

_I don't eat/__I don't sleep/__I do nothing but think of you_

_You keep me under your spell_

_You keep me under your spell_

_You keep me under your spell_

She looks out the car window as we drive past flashing restaurant signs and stores.

She laughs. "He said that that their "Rock God" energy helped him paint."

I laugh, too. "'Rock God'?" She looks back over to me. "Haha, yeah. You know how silly dads are." …Not really. I shrug, not saying anything.

_I don't eat/__I don't sleep_

_I do nothing but think of you_

"Have you called your father about your boy?" She looks down, suddenly sad. Have I done something wrong?

"Cora?"

"No…He passed away a long time ago… I was seven or eight years old, can't remember exactly what age. Cancer." Dammit, Hades, you damned idiot_. _"I'm sorry." I tap the wheel of the car with my thumbs.

_I don't eat/__I don't sleep_

_I do nothing but think of you_

_You keep me under your spell_

"It's alright." She's not crying, but she looks like she's about to. "I should be sorry – I shouldn't be telling you all this emotional stuff," she laughs, nervously; wiping her eyes, "Jim just has me so scared, and with his father gone – I'm just so stressed -" _Where's the boy's father? _I want to ask. _Where's the boy's father so I can kill him?_ I don't.

We get to a red light, and I abruptly stop. Hecate's words ring in my mind. _The red light means stop, sire. Please do try to remember. _

"It's fine," I say. I have plenty of things to tell you myself. The light turns green, and another song begins.

_ Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world/__She took the midnight train goin' anywhere/__Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit_

_He took the midnight train goin' anywhere_

She grins. "I _love_ this song!" She starts singing along, and the sound of her voice is... _beautiful_. I don't recall a moment when Persephone ever sang, and it makes my heart ache. "C'mon, sing with me, Hank!" she says, nudging my shoulder.

_A singer in a smokey room/__A smell of wine and cheap perfume/__For a smile they can share the night_

_It goes on and on and on and on _

_Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard/__Their shadows searching in the night/__Streetlights people, living just to find emotion/__Hiding, somewhere in the night._

"What?" I can't sing. "No."

She rolls her eyes, and smirks at me. "It's Journey! Who doesn't sing to Journey?" She starts singing again.

"_Working hard to get my fill/__Everybody wants a thrill/__Payin' anything to roll the dice,_

_Just one more time _ - You have to sing the chorus with me when it comes up again -

_Some will win, some will lose/__Some were born to sing the blues/__Oh, the movie never ends_

_It goes on and on and on and on"_

But I don't know the lyrics. I can't sing. I shake my head, but she just nods at me, smiling. The chorus comes back on, and she nudges me again. _Fine, fine. I'll do it._

She starts for me. "_Don't stop believing-_"

And I join in. "Hold on to the feelin'," I cringe at the sound of my voice, but she doesn't seem to notice, and then we're both singing.

"_Streetlights, people_

_Don't stop believin' _

_Hold on _

_Streetlights, people…"_ I start to laugh as the song ends. How embarrassing… Fun, perhaps - but embarrassing She holds up her hand as we come up to another red light. "High five!" she says, excitedly. High five? Oh yes, I remember. I slap the palm of her hand lightly.

"We made a good team there," she says, laughing softly. I smile at her.

"We did," I say, as another song comes on. I think that we're about five minutes away from the hospital.

_Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you/__By now you shoulda, somehow, realized what you gotta do_

_I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now_

"Thanks for all this, Hank. It's really nice of you."

I nod and smile. "You're very welcome, Per-" I stop myself, "Cora." She gives me a strange look, but seems to forget about it as we turn into the hospital parking lot.

_Back beat, the word is on the street that the fire in your heart is out/__I'm sure you've heard it all before but you never really had a doubt_

_I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now_

I park the car and turn off the engine. I open her door.

"You're coming in?" she asks me.

I shake my head. Truthfully, I am tired. "I just want to walk you in," I say, smiling at her.

"My, my, aren't we chivalrous?" she says, standing up.

I shrug. "I try, my lady."

She laughs, and we start walking towards the entrance.

"You're a weird guy, Hank." Weird?

"Is that good or bad?"

She laughs again, heartily and happily, pressing my arm against her. "I'm not sure yet." Her voice is light and teasing when she says it. "We'll see."

We walk up to the hospital, and I give her the number of my new cell phone.

"In case you need to contact me," I say, telling her the number. She doesn't offer me hers, and I don't press her for it.

"718? Park Slope, huh. Nice." She grins at me, and I shrug. I really have no idea what the place is like.

I give a small bow, and she giggles. "Have a good night, my lady."

She imitates me and does a curtsy, pretending that her jeans are a dress. "I will, good sir." I grin at her, and she turns around, smiling and walking into the hospital. As I walk back to my car in the empty parking lot, I feel my jaw clench in anger. _Aphrodite_. And she's leaning against my car, painting her nails.

"What are you doing here, Aphrodite?" I hiss. I stop so that we're about five feet apart. I don't want her getting close to me.

Her eyes flutter and she pouts, canting her hips seductively as she walks towards me. With each step I take back, she takes another step forward. I walk back until I am pressed up against a car across from my own in the parking lot. She's so close now, I can _smell_ her. "What, can't a girl see an old friend? It's Venus now, by the way." She tries to run her hand slowly down my chest, but I grab her wrist.

"Don't touch me," I say, disgust clear in my voice.

She wraps her arms around my neck and runs her fingers through my hair. "Come now, Hades – still bitter after all these years? I spent a hundred years in Tartarus," she says, rubbing her body against mine, "Do I feel bitter?"

"Stop."

She puts her mouth to my ear. "Oh Hades, Hades, Hades – finally found your love again, after all these years, only she's not what you were expecting. I can make myself look like her," she kisses my ear, "I can make myself smell like her," her fingers run across the nape of my neck, "I can make myself _feel_ like her," and she grinds up against me again. I squeeze the handle of my cane.

"How did you find out I was here?"

"I am the goddess of _love_," her breath comes hot in my ear and on my cheek, "_Of course_ I would find out. Demeter still doesn't know, if you're wondering." She trails her fingers down my right arm. She smells just like how I remember Persephone did.

"What do you want?" I ask, gritting my teeth. Her hand goes from my arm to my damaged thigh and she squeezes, hard, digging her nails into my skin. I groan as a spark of pain shoots though my leg.

If I didn't have my cane, I'm sure I'd fall.

As it is, I put my head on her shoulder when she squeezes my leg harder. "Only to be entertained, Hades – or should I call you Hank? Don't worry, I won't _tell_ anyone. I'll even swear it on the Styx." Her voice is sickeningly sweet. I grunt when she lets go, moving away from me, and I fall forward, dropping my cane and landing face-first on the ground.

_"Dammit!" _I yell.

I hear her laughing at me, heels clicking as she walks through the parking lot towards her car. It's hot pink, and the color along with the pain in my leg starts to give me a headache. She drives up to where I'm still lying on the ground and rolls down her window. "Good luck; you'll need it," she says, laughing, and she drives off, blowing me a small kiss.

"Bitch," I say, pushing myself up. I hobble over to my car and get in, taking out the map Hecate gave me and turning on the engine. "Park Slope it is…"

_Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world _

This song again? I shrug and start to sing despite myself.

"_She took the midnight train goin' anywhere/__Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit_

_He took the midnight train goin' anywhere_"

I smile, turning a corner and getting out of the parking lot.

_"A singer in a smokey room/__A smell of wine and cheap perfume_

_For a smile they can share the night…"_

* * *

A/N:

Read and review, my lovelies!

Songs used:

A Real Hero – College

Under Your Spell – Desire

Don't Stop Believing – Journey

Wonderwall – Oasis

Look them up, if you like :)


	6. You Can't Just Throw Me Away

Chapter 6: You Can't Just Throw Me Away

JIM

"I don't know nothin', officer," I say. Fucking asshole. He came in about an hour ago when I was reading, all cool-like, and he started asking me questions and hasn't fucking left.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah man, I'm sure." Get the fuck out. I'm clenching my jaw. The guy says that a few of my friends did really get caught for something – that there really _was_ a gang fight, and Lucas and Tugg were arrested. He doesn't say anything about Alex or the others. I'm pretty sure they got away. Still, I'm fucking pissed.

"When did you say your mom was comin' back?" The guy is fat and greasy, with a thick gray mustache, and when he talks I can see bits of crumbs fall down his blue uniform from the last doughnut he ate. Fatass.

"5:30." I look at the clock on the wall. It's 5:35. "She'll be here soon." The guy nods, scratching his fat belly and sitting down. Just then, there's a knock at the door.

"Looks like she's here," I say. The guy groans, getting up and huffing as my mom opens the door. My mom looks like she's about to walk over to me, but the guy reaches her before she even gets through door. Pretty fast for a fatass.

"Ma'am, I need to speak with you," he says, scratching his fat belly again.

She looks at me, worried. "What's this about, officer?"

"Let's talk about this outside, ma'am." She nods slowly, and soon they're out of my room. I hear their muffled voices, and soon a third voice joins in. It sounds like my doctor. I can only make out a few words, like "drugs" and "gang" and "your son may be involved". My mom shrieks a couple times, too. I'm in deep shit now. They talk for like 20 fucking minutes, and for a few seconds I feel pretty damn sure I'm going to be arrested, but the cop sounds like he's gonna leave me off with a warning. At least I think that's what he's gonna do; it's hard to tell what they're saying, like I said. Then they stop talking, and it's dead fucking silent, I'm telling you. Minutes later, my mom walks in. It looks like she's been crying. I've fucked up. Again.

"Mom…" I hate seeing her like this.

She walks close to my bed and wipes her eyes. "Jim, why do you keep doing this?" I don't really think she's asking me. More like she's asking God.

"Mom," I say again. I wanna hug her, tell her I'm sorry.

She sits in the chair next to my bed and puts her head in her hands. "You told me you quit doing drugs." I guess the good ole doc told her about the drugs in my system.

"It's not a big deal, Mom – all I've had is weed-"

She gets up, and stands over me. I thinks she's gonna yell at me, but when she talks her voice comes out almost like a whisper. "Not a big deal?" She wipes her eyes. "Not a big deal?!" Okay, so _now_ she's yelling at me. "Jim – _Goddammit_, Jim!" She throws up her hands, and starts pacing around the room.

"Not only have you lied to me about doing drugs – _lied _– but the officer told me that you're probably involved with a gang. A fucking _gang_, Jim? What the hell are you thinking?!" Her pacing is starting to make me dizzy.

"Do you know that the officer could have arrested you tonight, Jim? _Should_ have arrested you tonight?"

"Well-"

She stops pacing. "I know that things have been really hard for you since your father left, Jim, but you can't keep _doing_ this." I look down at my hands, and clench my good fist.

"You could have _died_, Jim, do you know that?"

"Yes," I say quietly.

"What?"

I look up at her, narrow my eyes. "Yeah Mom, I know, alright?"

"Jim…"

I turn away from her and lie on my side. "Whatever," I say. I'm so fucking tired of everything. I hear my mom walking up to me from behind.

"I don't know what you're going through, baby," she says, rubbing my back. I can tell that she's still crying, and I fucking hate myself for doing that to her. "But we'll get through it." Still, I don't say nothin', but I feel my chest get tight.

"I'm gonna make things right," I say. "Watch me." My eyelids start to feel heavy and I fall asleep.

I'm in total darkness. I look around, and it's nothing but shadows all around me…and then there's a voice, calling out from the black.

_Look, Hades, the boy is here_. The voice is fucking evil incarnate, I swear to you. It chills me down to my fucking core, and I get down on my knees. _What a pathetic runt. _Hey, that ain't fucking cool, asshole.

"Fuck you!" I yell, wrapping my hands around my belly. I feel nauseous.

The voice laughs and again I feel a chill deep in my bones. _He has darkness in his heart. _I lean forward on my hands. I'm gonna puke.

"Leave him alone, Father," I hear another voice say. I can't tell where it's coming from, but it sounds familiar.

_Oh Hades, you think that you're powerful? A lame god, in the mortal world looking for a lover long gone. How pathetic._

"Your taunts do nothing to me, Father. I've outgrown you." I'm pretty sure that the guy who said that is smiling – I can tell from the tone of his voice.

The voice grumbles, and I feel really fucking cold. _Maybe you have, but the boy has not. _The coldness is reaching around me, and I can't fucking breathe.

"Do what you will with him." Gee, thanks, jerkoff. It's so cold, so, so, so fucking_ cold._ Then I feel a pair of strong hands lifting me up, and the cold starts to recede. _Hades! I will get you for this!_

"Oh, be quiet, you old fool." There's a sound of a sword slashing and a yell of pain from that evil fucking voice, and then silence.

I feel a small knock to my head. "Ow!"

"Must you put yourself into dangerous situations in your dreams like you do in your waking life?" I still can't see the guy, but fucking hell, his voice sounds really familiar.

"Huh?" I ask. Whaddya expect me to say? There's an exasperated sigh, and the scene changes. I'm in my old room. I see myself sleeping on the bed. I think I must be eight. I hear fighting down the hall. Dad? I run down the hall and into the kitchen, and my dad is fucking there, luggage hanging over his shoulder.

"I can't do this anymore, Cora!"

"What about your _son_?!"

My dad throws up his arms, screaming, "I don't fucking know, Cora!"

My mom is crying, and she sits down, putting her head in her hands. "He worships you, Leland. You're his hero."

My dad adjusts the luggage on his shoulder again and makes his way to the door. "He'll find another hero, then."

"He needs a father. He needs you." My mom is crying so hard right now, but when I rush up to hug her, my arms go right through her.

My dad looks down, brushes some dirt off his pants. "He don't need me."

"Leland, please…"

"Nope, thought it through already and made my decision. I can't fucking do this anymore." He turns the door handle.

"That's fucking bullshit!" I scream, throwing a coffee cup at him. It goes right through his head. That just makes me angrier. "Don't fucking leave, asshole!" I've got tears in my eyes. Shut up.

He's opening the door. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck it's happening _again_.

I run up to him, punching at his back. "I'm a boy – I'm _your _boy! You can't just take me and throw me away! _Dad!_" He's already outside, and my mom has her head on the table, and she's bawling her eyes out. I hear little eight-year-old me running down the hall.

"Dad?" little eight-year-old me says. "Dad?!" He runs outside, and I run after him. My dad is already in his car, driving off, and little eight-year-old me is running after him as hard as he can.

"_Daaaaaaaaddd!_" My mom is running after eight-year-old me now, too; and after a quarter of a mile, my younger self stops running, and she catches up with him. I see myself kneeling on the ground, wiping tears around my eyes. My mom comes up to my younger self and hugs me, and my head turns towards her and I see myself cry. We both do.

I walk up to both of them and watch their conversation.

"Mom, what's going on?" She hugs me closer.

"Oh baby, my sweet, sweet baby… Dad's... going." Her words come out garbled and choked; the way that words usually come out when a person is crying their eyes out.

"Is he coming back?" my younger self says into her shoulder. Of course not, you stupid fucking little kid. He fucking left you.

I clench my fists.

"No, baby, he's not." She's rubbing my back, and we're both still crying. I feel like there's a strong hand on my shoulder, but when I turn to look, there ain't nobody there. I'm alone. The squeeze on my shoulder makes me feel just a little bit better.

* * *

A/N: Here you go, my chaps :D As always, leave comments and reviews.


	7. Getting Back Home

Chapter 7: Getting Back Home

Cora

The next day around 5 o'clock, the doctors release Jim from the hospital, and we take the subway home.

"What happened to the car?" he asks me, picking at a hole in my dad's old military jacket from his Vietnam days. He always wears it.

"The battery died," I tell him. He nods and looks down, scratching the stitches on the side of his head.

"Jim-"

"It itches." He's not looking at me. I sigh, and our train comes up. We walk in, and he sits across from me, pulling out a book; its cover is frayed and old, but I can still read the title: _The_ _Call of the Wild_. I smile.

"How many times have you read that now?"

"Six," he says, flipping the page. We don't talk the rest of the way. When we get to our small apartment, he goes to his room and shuts the door. I figured that he would be that way. I knock on his door. "Do you want anything to eat?" I ask.

"I'm good," he answers back.

"You're grounded, you know."

"…Yeah, I know." He sounds resigned. I sigh. "Alright Jim. Let me know if you're hungry. I'll make spaghetti." That's his favorite.

I hear his footsteps coming to the door, and he opens it. "….Spaghetti?" I nod.

He scratches near his stitches. "Okay…I guess I'm hungry." I smile. _Gotcha, kiddo. _He goes to sit on our old couch and kicks off his ratty old sneakers. I need to buy him some new shoes. Next paycheck from the bookstore, or next big tip from The Trident, we're going shopping. As I go to the counter, I see the note I had written to myself about the shelter. I'll have to call them tomorrow about the cat. I start to heat up the water and I cut up some tomatoes for the sauce.

"Do you want meatballs?" I look up; he's reading. "Jim?"

He turns to look at me. "Huh?" I shake my head. Boys.

"Do you want meatballs?"

He nods excitedly. "Yeah sure, Mom. Thanks."

20 minutes later, and the spaghetti and sauce are ready. He closes his book and walks over to me, getting out a set of plates and two glasses. He puts the spaghetti on both of our plates and puts them on our small table. I open the fridge.

"What do you want to drink?" I ask him.

"Tea," he answers. I pour a glass for both of us and sit down. We eat in silence. He gets a little frustrated at not being able to use his right hand, but he manages to eat. Pretty soon he's done, and he gets up, putting his dishes in the sink and heading back to his room. He forgets his book on the coffee table.

"Night, Jim," I say. He pauses in the hallway and turns to me. For a second he just stands there, but then he walks up to me and gives me a quick hug, leaning low to kiss my cheek while I'm sitting. "Night, Mom... I love you," he whispers, and he heads back into his room, shuts the door, and turns off the lights. Oh, Jim; I'm trying to do right by you, I really am. I get up and wash our dishes, leaving them on the rack to dry when I'm done. I sit down to write my paper for a couple of hours before going to bed.

It's a dreamless night.

* * *

It's school the next morning, and we take the subway again.

"I need a note," Jim says, not looking up from his book. "For the principal; about the hospital." I hastily write one down and hand it to him.

"Give this to the front office." He nods, putting the note into his jacket pocket and getting back to reading again.

"I'll be there to pick you up after school at 3:30. I don't want you going anywhere, Jim." He's still reading. "Jim, are you listening to me?"

"Got it, Mom."

I cross my arms. "What did I just say, then?"

He closes his book and looks up at me. "You're gonna pick me up after school at 3:30. I can't go anywhere."

I stiffly nod. "Alright then. I mean it, Jim."

We leave the station and I walk him to the front of the school. He's hanging his backpack on one shoulder. "Meet me right here, okay?" _Please, Jim. _

"Got it, Mom."

I make sure he walks into the building, and then I leave. I check my watch; it's 7:15.

"One hour to get to class." I take the subway again. "Brooklyn College, don't kill me today."

* * *

The day passes mostly without a hitch – I even manage to call the shelter, and they say that I can still adopt the little gray cat if I do it in the next couple of days – until I get a call around 2:30. It's my boss at the bookstore.

"Cora, I need you to fill in for Giovanni today at 3:45."

I want to groan into the phone. "Richard, I can't – I've got to pick up my kid-"

"I don't want any excuses, Cora. We need a manager on the floor, and Giovanni is gone, so you have to do it."

"But my son just got out of-"

"Do you want to be fired?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Then figure it out."

He hangs up on me, and I slam my hand down on my table in frustration. What a _dick_. What am I going to do now? I don't want Jim using the subway by himself…

I call Rachel.

She answers almost immediately.

"Hey, sexy girl, how's it?"

I laugh. "Hey, Rach, could I ask you a favor?"

"Babes, I'm in New Jersey right now visiting my folks-"

That's right. She told me about it last Saturday. With everything going on, I totally forgot about it. I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Goddammit."

"Why? What's wrong? Whaddya need?"

I sigh. Things just don't want to go my way. "My boss at the bookstore just called me; said I needed to work tonight. I need someone to pick up Jim from school."

"He's 15, right? Let him take the subway."

I shake my head, pressing the phone closer to my ear. "He just got out of the hospital…I really don't want him going anywhere by himself right now." _I don't want him hanging out with gangbangers. _

There's silence on the line for a few seconds. "Sorry, babes; I'm stuck in Princeton for the next couple of days."

I groan. "I'm so friggin screwed." I look at my watch again: 2:45. Then I hear her laugh on the other line.

"Hey babes, I have an idea…" Uh oh. That doesn't sound good. "…What kind of idea, Rach?"

She laughs again. "Why don't you…call Rugged Amazingness?"

"What?! No, no, no, no. I can't do that. I don't know him – I can't just ask him to – I mean, he's done so much already –Besides, I don't have his number…"

I hear her huff on the other line. "How long have we been best friends, Cora?" Oh boy, here we go.

"17 years," I say.

"That's right, 17 years." 'You should know by now that I can tell when you're lying.' She's going to say it. I know she is.

"You should know by now that…" Yup, same old Rach.

"I know, I know," I say. "It's just… I don't want to be more in debt to the guy than I already am."

"Guuuurl, with the way he was looking at you at the restaurant, I'd say he wouldn't mind doing a_ thing_ for you-"

"I don't want to manipulate him-"

"Babes, you're just asking him for a favor. C'mon, just do it." I really _do_ need the help….

"….Fine," I say.

I hear a yell of triumph on the other line. "Yes! And hey, when I get back, you gotta tell me how your date was with him."

"It wasn't a date," I start to protest.

"Woops, sorry, babes, gotta go – the parentals just put on _Titanic_." She's laughing as she hangs up the phone. Dammit, I guess I have no other choice. I look him up in my contacts and stare at his number for about five minutes. _"In case you need to contact me,"_ he had said. I guess I need to.

I dial his number.

The phone rings and rings, and I almost think he isn't going to answer. Of course he does, though.

"…Hello?" His voice comes out deep and raspy, like he just woke up. Little late for sleeping, buddy. I smile. Taking a nap, good sir?

"…Um, hi Hank-"

"Cora!" He sounds happy. "How are you?"

"I'm good, Hank. Um, listen, I was wondering if you could do me a favor?"

"Of course I can." Wow, that was fast. His voice sounds like he's smiling on the other end.

"Could you…possibly…pick up Jim from school?" I scrunch my eyes and cross my fingers. _He's going to say no, he's going to say no. _For almost a whole minute, he doesn't answer, and then…

"Where is it?" Thank you, God.

I tell him the address.

* * *

A/N: Thanks guys for all your readership! Leave comments! :)


	8. Your Worst Nightmare

A/N: Beware of typos in this one! There's probably more than there usually are.

* * *

Chapter 8: Your Worst Nightmare

HADES

I groan as I lift myself up from my chair. I had fallen asleep at my desk doing some recordkeeping when Persephone called me, and my thigh begins to throb incessantly as I stand. The clock on my phone says that it is 3:00. I sigh, limping – hopping, really – towards my cane, where it's leaning on my bedroom wall a few feet away. The silver pummel is cool against the palm of my hand. I put on a fresh shirt and dark jeans. The modern attire was uncomfortable at first; tight and restricting, close against my skin, but… I've grown to rather like this new style of dress. My robes are out of the question, at any rate.

What I had originally thought was going to be an apartment turned out instead to be what the mortals here call a "brownstone". Hecate does love to surprise people. Still, the building suits me well enough, with simple furnishings – perhaps even too simple. My desk is the only cluttered piece of furniture within the whole building, filled with paperwork from the Underworld that Thanatos has brought me. As I walk past the bare walls into the kitchen, I am filled with a feeling of hollowness and loneliness.

I pick up my keys and helm from the granite counter in the kitchen and make my way to the front door. I heave a heavy sigh as I look back on the empty building that will serve as my home for the next year - perhaps I should purchase a television. I shrug, putting on my shoes and opening the door. I walk to my car, rubbing my hands along its sides. I feel it hum beneath my fingers in response. The horses are getting restless. I open up the car door and place my helm on the dashboard and put my cane in the passenger seat. I take in a deep breath and flex my fingers. _Be patient, be still._ The boy has an uncanny ability to get underneath my skin…though, I have to hand it to him; his bravery when facing Cronus surprised me. How he managed to enter my dream is beyond me – I suspect that it might have to do with him being a demigod, but I am not certain. I'll have to speak with Morpheus. I put the keys into the ignition and the engine roars to life. I can tell that the horses are not pleased.

"Soon, my friends," I say, patting the top of the dashboard. "I'll take you out of the city soon." I shift the gear into drive and start off towards the boy's school.

When I get there, the boy is in trouble. I clench my jaw in frustration. _This. Damn. Kid._ As I drive up to the side of the school and park, I spot a large young man standing over him and a group of other boys standing behind him. The boy is on the ground, curled up into a ball and protecting his head. The group is taunting him, pointing their fingers and laughing. There are other children just standing there, seemingly at a loss for what to do. The large boy kicks Cora's son in the stomach, and I grimace. Grabbing my cane, I step out of the car. I roll my eyes. _I cannot believe I am about to do this. _Another kick to the stomach, and I can hear the boy grunt in pain as I get closer.

"That's enough," I say, walking up to the crowd. The large boy kicks Jim again, and it takes all of my restraint not to vaporize him right there.

"Oh yeah? Who says?" the boy asks. He has dark blond hairs at the end of his chin. Pathetic. He spits to the side and rolls up his sleeves.

"I do."

"Yeah? And who the fuck are you, cripple?" He laughs, and his friends follow suit.

I smile, narrowing my eyes as I look at the large boy. "Your worst nightmare."

* * *

JIM

When I get to school, I hand the letter my mom wrote me to Mr. Reyes, the principal. He reads it, stares at me for like a fucking hour and then nods his head.

"Get to class, Mr. Wells." I don't say anything.

A bunch of kids stare at me as I walk through the hallway, and I hear all sorts of whispers. "Wells got his ass kicked?" and "No way – Little Slugger beats the shit out of everyone!" and "Look at those stitches!" and "Little Slugger doesn't have his right hook…" and "You think I can take him? I bet I can take him…" and "Asshole, you're only saying that 'coz he can't fucking deck you now". It all pisses me off.

The other kids stare at me as I walk into class and hang my backpack off the back of my chair. Yeah, assholes, someone beat the shit out of me; you can stop fucking staring now. There's more whispered murmurs about me, and then_ she_ walks in, and it's totally fucking silent. Viola Guerrero, the prettiest damn girl in school; with thick, dark hair, swinging hips and the sweetest brown eyes you'll ever see. I've had a crush on her since forever. When we were little, we used to hang out together all the time in the neighborhood park. Then my dad left and my mom and we had to move into our tinyass apartment complex so we could make ends meet. When we got into high school, she wasn't my awesome friend anymore – she was this beautiful, unobtainable girl, and I was a street thug. Things haven't changed since then.

Probably never will.

Last I heard, she was dating Dave Cousins; school quarterback, and leader of the debate team, of all fucking things. Royal–A, asshole, too, but I guess I shouldn't judge. She sits in front of me, not bothering to look back. Figures. Then Mr. Gordon walks in, and class starts. I feel my eyelids begin to get heavy as I lay my head down. Just as I start to fall asleep, I feel a small smack to the side of my ear. Did I forget to mention that Mr. Gordon is an asshole? Sorry about that, here it is:

He's an asshole.

"Mr. Wells, since you obviously know everything in this class, please inform the class about a significant symbol you found in your reading of _Heart of Darkness_."

"Huh?" I say, and my classmates laugh. Shit, these fluorescent lights really hurt my eyes.

My teacher crosses his arms and taps his foot against the floor. "_Heart of Darkness_, Mr. Wells. You did read it, right? Or are you too stupid to follow directions?" The kids in the classroom laugh again. Fuck you, asshole.

I clear my throat. "Yeah, teach, I read it."

"And?"

"And what?" The kids laugh. Goddamn, they're annoying.

"The symbol, you moron; talk about a symbol you found in the book." Gettin' real tired of your shit, teach.

I clear my throat again and lean back in my chair. "Well, the most obvious symbol," I say, "is the river." I wait to see if he'll try to interrupt me, but he doesn't, so I keep going. "Rivers are a big thing in literature – Huck Finn travels down the Mississippi, y'know –"

"We're talking about _Heart of Darkness_ here, Mr. Wells." Fucking asshole, I knew you were going to cut me off.

"I know, teach, but just lemme explain-"

The guy turns his back on me, and laughs. "No, Mr. Wells, I believe you've shown enough of your ignorance for one day." Oh, that is fucking it. Fuck trying to keep my mouth shut at school. I stand up and look for the nearest thing I can grab. It's my textbook. I throw it down on my desk, hard, and the sound thunders through the classroom. That gets him to turn around.

It gets Viola to turn around, too.

"You're a fucking asshole," I say. There's a bunch of shocked "ooohhs" and "ahhs" and a few laughs, too. "You asked me a fucking question, and then I before I even get a chance to answer you fucking cut me off."

Mr. Gordon just narrows his eyes. "Sit down, Mr. Wells."

"No."

"Mr. Wells, I will send you to the principal's office."

I laugh really hard at that. "Asshole, I've been in fucking juvie. Do you really think being sent to the principal scares me?"

The guy looks like he's about to have a heart attack – the veins in his neck are sticking out, and his face is so fucking red, he looks like a tomato. "Get. Out."

Whatever, I didn't want to be in this class anyway. I pick up my backpack and give him a hard shove with my shoulder as I walk past him, swiping the apple lying on his desk as I head to the door.

"Is that – is that my apple?" His face is fucking hilarious.

"By the way," I say, opening the door and taking a big bite out of the apple – I can see the steam coming out of his ears – I continue, "The river serves as a way for the imperialistic white men in the story to go into the heart of Africa, without having to actually cross it; without having to actually experience it." I'm not a dumbass.

His jaw looks like it's gonna fall off. I smile at him and toss him back the half- eaten apple. "See ya around, Mr. Gordon." And then I shut the door.

Mr. Reyes, here I come.

* * *

When I get to his office, the lady at the front tells me to wait, so I sit down and pull out _The Call of the Wild. _Not two minutes later, I see Viola coming up to sit beside me. What the hell?

I don't say anything for a few minutes, and neither does she, but after a while I just can't take the silence anymore.

"You never get in trouble," I say, pretending to read. She's sitting right across from me. I don't look up at her.

"First time for everything, right?"

"I guess so."

There's an awkward pause for a moment, and I wonder what in the fuck is taking the principal so long.

"So…how've you been, Jim?"

I've been fucking fantastic, Viola. My life is just wonderful. "Alright," I tell her. I still haven't looked up from my book.

"That's good."

"Yeah."

"My dad tells me that you're a street thug." Her dad's a cop, I think, but I'm not sure.

I nod. "Your dad's right." No use lying about it.

"You're too smart to be a street thug."

I scratch at my stitches. They itch. "There's a lot of smart people on the streets."

"What're you reading? I can't read the title." Prolly 'coz the book's so old and faded.

I peer at her from the top of my book. "_The Call of the Wild_." She smiles at me. Damn, she's pretty.

"I remember when we were little, and you used to read me _The Count of Monte Cristo_ and _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea."_

"Yeah, I remember too."

"You were always awesome at reading." My cheeks are hot. Shut up.

"Thanks, I guess." I see her boyfriend walk by us with a weird look on his face. She doesn't seem to notice. "So, why're you here, Viola?"

She shrugs. "I told Mr. Gordon to go fuck himself. He was a total dick to you, and I thought that…you had a really good answer, Jim Wells." Oh, okay.

Wait.

What?

"Mr. Wells, Mr. Reyes is ready to see you now."

I stare her. I'm in total fucking shock. She's smiling softly at me.

"Mr. Wells." It's the lady at the front, I think.

"Huh?"

"Mr. Reyes is ready to see you now."

"Uh. Okay." Viola just keeps smiling at me.

"I'll see you around, Jim Wells," she says, waving at me.

"Uh, see you." Okay, I'm not very smooth. Shut up.

* * *

The talk with Mr. Reyes goes well – I only get a detention, surprisingly. He says it's 'coz I just got back from the hospital, so he's giving me a break. He tells me that he'll have a talk with Mr. Gordon, and that's cool, I guess... but the whole time I'm there, I'm wondering where Alex and the guys have gone. If they're safe. I'll have to try and call Alex when I get home, when my mom's asleep. That'll be the only way, with my grounding and all. I go to the rest of my classes; fall asleep in most of them.

Pretty soon, the school day is over and I head out the front door and wait by the gate. I check my watch: 3:28. My mom will be here soon. I lean back against the wall.

And then I feel a hard hit to the side of my head that sends me reeling and makes me see stars. "Shiiit…" I mumble. I feel a guy start to pick me up by the lapels of my jacket. His breath smells like a horrible mixture of coffee and sports drink.

"What the fuck do you think you were doing talking to my girlfriend today, you little shit?" My vision is still blurry, but I can see a blond crew cut beginning to form. Dammit all, it's Dave. This guy is big and strong, and my hand his broken, and he just hit me in the head and I can't defend myself and shit -

I'm so fucking fucked.

"Beat the shit out of that little asshole, Dave!"

"Yeah, Dave – show him who's the real slugger around here!"

He's got his jockstrap-brained posse with him, too. Fucking great.

The guy knees me in the nuts, and I fall like a pile of bricks. I feel like I'm gonna throw up. _"Do the plant thing,"_ Alex would say. "I can't, Alex…too many people…"

"What did you say, you little faggot?" He kicks me in the stomach, and I curl in on myself, trying to protect my head and body from anymore blows. "Is that your boyfriend, you little faggot?"

"Dave! What the hell are you doing?!" That sounds like Viola.

"Just teaching this little shit a lesson, babe." He kicks me again and again, and his friends laugh. I think I hear her scream at him, and I think he calls her a bitch, and she runs off to get help, but I just focus on trying to keep my head protected.

And then…I hear footsteps walk up behind me, and I feel a powerful, dark aura envelope me. And then I hear his voice, and I damn, I _know_ that voice…I turn my head up to look at him, just a little, and the memory comes flooding back to me.

This is the fucking guy with the cane.

The guy who kicked my ass.

The guy who almost _killed_ me.

And now he's here, _saving_ me.

"And who the fuck are you, cripple?" Dave says, laughing.

I feel that sense of power brewing just beneath the surface, and fuck, it's strong. "Your worst nightmare." The guy's voice is chilling.

I fucking believe him.

* * *

A/N: DUN DUN DUN.

As always, leave comments and such in the comment box. Please? Pretty please? Pleassssssee? I like reviews; they help me learn. :)


	9. You're Just a Boy Playing at Being a Man

Chapter 9: You're Just a Boy Playing at Being a Man

A/N: Probably lots of typos in this one, too. I'll try and fix it as I read over the chapter in the format.

Cora

_Jim, please be okay today, please_. I'm really having trouble working at the bookstore. I just can't stop thinking about Jim. _Please Hank, bring him back safe._

"Miss, do you work here?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Do you work here?"

"Yes, I'm the manager," I stutter. Back to work, Cora; back to work.

Hank's got Jim.

I'm not sure if that makes me feel safe or nervous.

HADES

"My worst nightmare, huh?"

"That's right." The boy cracks his neck and motions for his friends to surround us. I'm leaning hard on my cane. My leg hurts.

The boy laughs, cracking his knuckles. "You got a pretty big mouth for being a cripple outnumbered seven to one." He's right – I am too outnumbered to fight and win this without using my powers. What to do, what to do…Ahhhhhh, yes –

Bait him.

"Fight me by yourself, then," I say, smirking. "That is, if you feel man enough." The children around us make an "ooooing" sound, which strikes me as a bit odd. Some even laugh before being shushed by people I assume are their friends. I can sense that Cora's son is looking up at me, but don't look down to see his expression. I assume it's something along the lines of shock or surprise.

The boy crosses his arms, laughing. "I'm more a man than you'll ever be, cripple." His friends snicker, irritatingly. When this boy dies, I'll be sure to put him in a very _special_ part of Tartarus.

"Is that so?"

The boy frowns. "Yeah, motherfucker, it is."

I shrug. "Prove it." His friends urge him on, saying, "Teach this asshole a lesson, Dave," and "Don't let that cripple disrespect you, Dave," and "Kick his ass, Dave." That should do it.

The boy steps forward, rolling his large shoulders. They make a cracking sound as he does so. The crowd is completely surrounding us now. My leg throbs, and I groan in annoyance. _Let's hurry up and get this over with._

"You're in for a world of hurt, cripple," he says. His feet start walking towards me faster until he's running, and he takes a swing at me. I dodge it easily and sidestep him, lightly hitting the back of his knees with the bottom of my cane and knocking him off balance. The crowd around us gasps.

The boy turns around and tries to throw another punch, and I smack his hand away with my cane. "Too slow," I say, smiling at him. "How is this guy so fast?" the crowd asks, "Who is this guy?"

He growls at me, trying to knee me in my groin and missing. "I'll get you, you fucking cripple!"

I step back and lift out my arms to my sides. "Come and get me, then." He rushes up to me, and just he is about to hit me, I duck and punch his side, hard.

Hard, but not hard enough to kill.

It's a punch for a weak human.

He falls down with his chest on the ground, coughing and sputtering.

"You're not a man," I say, lightly kicking his side with the toe of my shoe. "You're just a boy playing at being a man." I turn my head. "Anyone else?" I ask. My voice is loud and strong.

There are whispers around me; voices small and quiet in their confusion. "What just happened?" they ask, "Who the hell is this guy?" Looking over the top of the crowd, I see a girl running over with an older man.

"What the hell is going on here?" the older man asks, pushing through the crowd of youngsters. He spots the large boy, holding his stomach in pain on the ground and then he looks up at me. He has dark skin and short, dark brown hair. He does not look happy, and the wrinkles on his face tell me that he is old. He is unhealthy.

Near death.

"Who the hell are you? Did you do this?" I lean hard on my cane.

"This boy," I say, pointing at Cora's son, "was being attacked by that boy." I point towards the large blond boy lying on the ground. "I simply intervened," I say, shrugging.

The man turns towards the girl. She is very pretty. "Viola, is this true? Did Mr. Cousins attack Mr. Wells?"

"Yes, Mr. Reyes! Dave knocked Jim down and just kept kicking and kicking and kicking and oh my God-" She's starting to cry.

"It's alright," he says. He turns to me. "I'm afraid I'll have to call the police, Misteeer…?"

"Underwood," I tell him. I frown. "I don't have time for that."

The man looks at me, surprised. "Excuse me?"

I start limping towards Cora's boy, and he looks up at me; his green eyes look confused.

"Are you hurt?" I ask him, and he pats his stomach, groin and chest, checking for soreness. He shakes his head.

I nod. "Get up," I tell him. He does, dusting off his pants and jacket.

"Excuse me sir, you can't just leave!" I hear the man walking up to me from behind.

I groan in frustration.

"I'm a busy man, Mr. Reyes," I say, turning towards him.

The man holds up his hands, passively. "I'm sure you are, Mr. Underwood, but-"

"My leg hurts," I say, patting my thigh, "you wouldn't want to put a cripple like me through more pain, would you?"

"Of course not, sir, but-"

I place my hand on the man's shoulder, patting it and giving it a hard squeeze. "Call the police, and I'll press charges against our young friend here," I say, nodding towards boy on the ground. I smile at the man, squeezing his shoulder. "Do you understand?" The man nods, flustered. I grin. "Good."

I turn towards Cora's son. "We're leaving," I say, limping past him and pulling out my keys.

"What makes you think I'll go with you, asshole?" he says. "I don't fucking know you."

"Mr. Wells, watch your language!" the principal yells.

"Sorry, Reyes."

I clench my jaw in frustration and turn towards the boy, narrowing my eyes. "Buck is waiting for you at home," I say, gritting my teeth. "Now follow me and get into the car."

The principal walks up to me again. "Sir, I can't let you just take this boy. I don't know you, you've just hurt one of my students, and-"

"Relax, Reyes…My mom knows this guy," the boy says, picking up his book bag walking up towards me. My leg really is starting to bother me.

"But-"

"It was nice to meet you, Mr. Reyes," I say, turning my back towards him.

"Wait-"

"I'm _very_ glad I won't have to press any charges," I say, jingling my keys.

"…"

I hear the boy's footsteps close behind me now, and the crowd opens up a path for us. The children whisper as we walk through, and I think I hear one say, "Dude, that guy is badass." I smile.

Soon, we reach my car, and Cora's son stops in his tracks. I open my door. The boy is still standing there.

"Look the guy's fucking car!"

"Is that a Ferrari?!"

"Oh my God, it _is_ a Ferrari!"

"Who _is_ this guy?!"

_Mortals_. I roll my eyes. "Quit your gawking and get in." My throbbing leg is making me irritable. I sigh, taking in a deep breath. _Be patient, be still. _

He nods his head stiffly and opens the door, stepping into the car. I shake my head. This is going to be a long drive.

JIM

'Buck is waiting for you at home.' It's a code my mom and I use. Means she's working. Means I'm supposed to trust someone.

This fucker knows it.

This crippled fucker.

I lean back against the leather seat of his expensive-ass car, crossing my arms. How does my mom know this guy?

Oh.

Shit.

This is guy the doctors told me about – the guy who brought me into the hospital; the guy who's paying for my hospital bills.

This guy, with the fucking cane.

This guy, with the fucking cane who almost killed me.

This guy who…saved me.

I feel that dark sense of power I felt before coming from the guy and I shake my head. There's somethin' with this guy. Somethin' ain't normal about him.

"I shoulda fuckin' killed you," I say, not really thinkin' about it. It's a stupid thing to say, but it just sort of falls from my mouth.

I do shit like that, sometimes.

The guy just fucking busts out laughing.

"None of this would have happened if I just fucking killed you," I say, looking out the window. "No hospital, no asskicking by Dave – none of this at all."

The guy just nods and nods as I talk. I can't tell if he's angry or amused. Probably both. We come to a red light. There's a long silence, and then the guy talks.

"You're no killer, boy," he says, flicking his icy-blue eyes towards me. "Even if you were, you wouldn't be able to kill me." He smirks.

"You don't know a damn thing about me, asshole," I say, picking at a hole in my jacket and looking out the window. In the reflection of the window, I can see a Yankees baseball cap sitting on his dashboard. Didn't he have a Red Sox cap? What the hell?

The guy shrugs, turning the car down another street. "I know that you're not a killer," he says, calmly.

"Whatever," I say, staring out of the window. We sit in silence, and then my stomach growls.

You know when things are totally, eerily quiet, and then there's a loud crashing sound that just scares the shit out of you? That's what this is like. The growl is loud, really fucking loud, and my stomach actually kind of hurts. I haven't eaten since my breakfast this morning. I forgot my lunch.

"Hungry?" the guy asks, not looking at me. I wanna say no; I wanna tell him to go fuck himself, but then my stomach growls again, and I can't hide it.

"Yeah," I say.

The guy nods, and he turns. "I'll stop at the next restaurant." My stomach growls again, and I can see the guy smiling. Shit, this is fucking embarrassing.

"Cool," I say, leaning my head against the back of my seat.

The next restaurant turns out to be this fifties-styled diner called Austin's, and as we walk through the door the smell of chicken tenders and milkshakes and fries makes my mouth water. We sit down at a booth seat, and a big, chubby waitress takes our order.

The guy doesn't order much; just a sandwich and a soda… but me, oh me –

I order a shit-ton. Chicken tenders, fries, and a huge milkshake. Hey, I'm hungry, and the guy's paying; it's not like I'm making him short on cash.

We sit in more silence as we wait for our food to be brought out, and I see that the guy sticks his leg a little bit out of the booth and starts rubbing it. The lady brings us glasses of water and I take a sip. The guy looks like his leg is really bothering him.

And hey, I'm a curious dude, you know-

So, I ask him:

"What's up with your leg?" Rude? Yeah. Do I care? Hell no.

The guy snaps his head towards me, and for a second it looks like he's just now registering the fact that I'm there.

"It's an old injury," he says. His voice makes it sound like he doesn't want to talk about it anymore, but fuck it-

I'm going to make him.

"From what?" I ask, taking a sip from my water.

The guy gets this exasperated look on his face and he groans. "From a fight."

The lady brings us our food, and I start in on my fries. They're fresh and hot and fucking fantastic. Awesome.

The guy seems to relax and he starts to eat, taking a small bite from his sandwich. Huh. Must not be very hungry.

I take another fry and dip it into my ketchup. "A fight with who?"

The guy looks up at me. He looks really annoyed. I smirk at him.

"You're not going to drop this, are you?" His voice is scary as hell.

Still, it's not as scary as my mom when she says my whole my name. _"James Pleiades Wells, get over here now!"_

_That _shit is fucking scary. This guy is scary… but he ain't mom scary.

"Nope," I say, smiling, as I eat another fry.

The guy leans back in his seat, scratching his beard. I want a beard like that. Looks cool. Tough.

"It was a fight with my brother," he says, putting his arms up on the back of the seat. He points his right index and middle finger to the jagged thing that runs down across his face. "That's where I got _this_."

"The fuck were you guys tryin' to do? Kill each other?"

"Yes."

Damn. That-

Wow. That must have been _some_ fucking fight to leave scars like that…

"…You must hate your brother," I say, awkwardly, taking a sip from my chocolate milkshake. It's really good.

The guy smiles a little bit and leans back. "I did. For a long time. I was…very angry."

"What'd you do?"

The guy rubs his leg a little bit again and looks up at the ceiling, smiling. "Staying angry doesn't solve anything." The guy looks back down at me, right into my eyes. "I got over it."

We don't talk the rest of the time at the restaurant; we just eat, and the guy constantly checks his phone and texts people. I guess it's some pretty important shit, 'coz his brow is all furrowed and his face is all concentrated. Pretty soon we're done eating, and the guy asks for the check, pays, leaves a tip, and we head out the door.

"Hey man…thanks for the food," I say, following the guy back to his car. "It was really good."

The guy looks back me and smirks. "You're welcome, Jimbo." Not sure I like that nickname…but you fed me, so I'll let ya get away with it this time, man.

We get into the car, and the sun starts to set. "Can you turn on the radio?" I ask. The silence is killing me. He does, and the music that comes out is the fruity stuff my mom listens to. I groan. "Ugggghhh, not that shit; put on 98.3."

The guy grunts, but he does it.

_Too alarming now to talk about_

_Take your pictures down and shake it out_

_Truth or consequence, say it aloud_

_Use that evidence, race it around_

"Cool, it's the Foo Fighters," I say, grinning at the guy. He shrugs. Whatever, man. I like them. I pick at the hole in my jacket.

_There goes my hero_

_Watch him as he goes_

_There goes my hero_

_He's ordinary_

"I'll never understand peoples' obsession with heroes," the guy says, mostly to himself. "They're not very pleasant." We turn onto my street and I see our crappy apartment complex coming up.

_Don't the best of them bleed it out_

_While the rest of them peter out_

_Truth or consequence, say it aloud_

_Use that evidence, race it around_

_"_Here we are," he says, parking the car.

_There goes my hero_

_Watch him as he goes_

_There goes my hero_

_He's ordinary_

He turns off the engine.

"Yeah, here we are." I step out of the car, and I see my mom opening the front door. The guy waves at her, and she waves back, a little awkwardly. She walks over to us and gives me a hug.

"Mooooom," I say, complaining.

She laughs. "Oooh, am I embarrassing my big man now?" Yeah, mom. She kisses my cheek, and I wipe it off. She rolls her eyes. "Alright, grounded boy – go to your room. You forgot your lunch, so there's leftover spaghetti, if you want any." Not hungry right now…but I love spaghetti. Maybe I'll have some later.

"Cool mom, thanks," I say. I look at the guy in the car and give him a thumbs up. "Thanks for the ride, man." Thanks for not killing me, too. Or telling my mom I tried to kill you.

Thanks for all that.

You damn weirdo.

I head to the front door, and I hear him yell, "Stay out of trouble, Jim Wells!"

I wave my hand as I walk into the house.

My mom is still out there talking to the guy as I go into my room and fall face-first into my bed. I'll call Alex later on tonight. Wake up at 2:00 AM, call him at 2:10 AM. I can do that.

I can do that.

* * *

A/N:

Leave your thoughts in the comment box below, my lovelies! Thank you for all your support! :D


	10. I'd Rather Not Make a Mess Out of Myself

A/N: I apologize for taking so long to get this out to you guys. Life throws crap at you, what can I say? A word of caution – there is a rather sexual scene near the end of this chapter, but it is short and not overly descriptive. The rating of this story will likely be changed to M sometime in the future, but for now I don't feel that it needs to be. Perhaps it does, and I'm just loose with my morals, I don't know.

Anyways, I'm back!

Please review!

* * *

Chapter 10: You're Not Real, and I'd Rather Not Make a Mess of Myself

CORA

Jim's face looks a little bruised.

He probably got into a fight.

I sigh, shaking my head. I watch him walk into the door of our apartment; we're on the first floor. I hear someone clearing their throat behind me and I nearly jump out of my skin. _Who the hell is that?_

"Cora?"

Oh, right – Hank. Trying to put a smile on my face, I turn around. The window of his car is open, and he's peering at me with what I think is curiosity, but I'm not sure.

"Sorry about that," I say, "I've been pretty absent-minded lately."

"That's understandable," he says. His face doesn't change.

I walk closer to the car and lean down towards the window. "Thanks for picking up Jim," I tell him. _Thanks for saving his life; thanks for paying for everything_. _Thank you so goddamn much_, I want to tell him. Instead, I say, "Thanks for everything," and smile at him. His lips curl up a little in return, and his thumbs start tapping the wheel of his car.

"He's a… good kid," he says, nodding towards the door, and I almost burst out laughing.

"Well, I wouldn't say "good", at least not right now, but…he's got a good heart."

"I can…See you love him very much."

I do laugh a little at that. "Definitely– what mom doesn't love their kid, right?" His eyes seem to twitch when I say that, but with the low light I can't be sure.

There's silence for a long moment, and he's just looking at me.

And I'm just looking at him too, taking in his features again in the low light.

The moment is long, and by all accounts it should feel awkward –

It doesn't, though. I _know_ I've seen him before, and for one brief second – not even a second, actually; or even a half of a second – there's a wave of something that just hits me; so intense that it makes my heart flutter in my chest and makes my breath hitch –

I blink and the feeling is gone.

Where in the world did _that_ come from?

"Cora."

I look back at him with some difficulty. For some reason I feel dizzy. I look into his eyes, and for a second I'm startled by how big his pupils have gotten, and – is he shaking? His breath his coming out in controlled puffs through his mouth, and the sound is really distracting me. I think he's asking me a question, but I don't catch it the first time.

I shake my head and blink my eyes a few times. "What's up?"

He chuckles, but it seems forced, like maybe…

Like maybe he's nervous.

He looks like he's got a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

"I was …" He looks like he's struggling to find the right word, 'Wondering'? Yes – wondering if you would like to…have dinner with me?"

Imagine an old vinyl record playing, and it suddenly skips or stops. Replace that image with what's going on inside my head, and you'll have a pretty good picture of what this question does to my brain.

I'm pretty sure my jaw is hanging open. Not a pretty sight. "D – d – d – dinner? Going out to dinner? Like a _date_?" I haven't been on a date since I was… God, it was before I was pregnant with Jim. 16 years almost. I can't just go on a _date_, I mean oh my God I barely know this guy and what about Jim and –

"No, not a date!…Well sort of –" I start to shake my head, and I notice that Hank's running his hands through his hair.

I'm shaking my head more. "Wait, no, it's just, ah –" He's starting to talk really fast. _I can't go out on a date._

He takes in a deep breath and so do I.

Breathing out, he says, "Look," he looks up right at me, and Jesus, his pupils have dilated so much, that I'm actually kind of worried, "I… enjoyed your company at the restaurant…" I gulp. "And I've found myself thinking that it would be nice to be in your company again…" He runs a shaking hand through his hair, making it even more disheveled-looking. Is he nervous? He seems nervous. Then again, that might just be me projecting what I'm feeling onto him; I'm pretty sure my heart is about to burst out of my chest. A _date_? I can't go on a date! "So, I suppose… what I'm saying, is…I…_like_ you," when he says "like" it almost seems like he wants to say another word; almost like it pains him to say "like"; almost like he has to drag it out of himself to say that word instead of another one, "so would you care to go to dinner with me?" His eyes are looking right into mine, and …God you look so familiar, Hank – I feel that intense feeling from before, just as brief, just as strong – recognition, familiarity, and something else I can't quite place – and then the feeling's gone, leaving me dizzy and slightly breathless.

_What the hell is going on with me?_

He keeps looking at me, and his brows are creased in worry. So nervous for being such a handsome man.

Maybe it's the scar.

Wait.

What?

_Handsome?! What the hell is wrong with you?!_ _Rach thinks he's handsome, not you!_ I shake my head again.

"….Cora?"

"…I…"

What would Rachel do?...Scratch that – she'd jump his bones first chance she got (if she didn't already have a boyfriend, that is – _maybe_ even despite that). I can practically hear Rachel yelling at me. _Go out with him, chica! Don't let that amazing piece of ass go by! Look at him – it's Rugged Amazingness! You ain't been on a date in 16 years – you best not let this chance go by, guurl. You'll never ever hear the end of it from me, 'member that. It's just one date, chica._

_ Just one._

_ Do it for me._

_ Pretty please?_

_ Pretty please with a cherry on top?_

"Okay!" I shout. _Gotcha, chia _I can hear Rachel's smug tone in my ear and I groan_; _I am_ so_ going to regret this. "Okay, okay…I'll do it," I say, looking up at him. His eyes light up, and his face kind of reminds me of an excited little boy. _A little boy with a beard_, I say to myself and I start to giggle.

I really can't believe I've just agreed to go on a date.

Maybe the world really is ending…

"Fantastic!" His voice shocks me out my stupor and he smiles at me. "I'll be here to pick you up by 6:30 on Friday."

I nod, stupidly. I really, really can't believe this is happening.

"Thank you, Cora," he says, turning on the engine of his car.

"Sure," I say. _Sure_? _Sure_?! The shock of all this has really made me dumb.

He nods at me, motioning me to back away from the car and he drives off.

I pinch the bridge of my nose as I walk into the apartment.

Another thought hits me then:

What in the world am I going to do about _Jim_?

* * *

HADES

As I park and get out of the car, I see a familiar face looking up to greet me from outside the brownstone door.

He appears young, with dark hair arranged in spikes and tanned skin and no shortage of piercings or tattoos; wearing black ripped jeans and a t-shirt with a skeleton on it.

"Sire," he says, giving a slight bow with his head.

"Thanatos," I greet in return, walking up the stairs. "Your clothes…When did you start…Dressing like that?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "Since the 1980s, sire. May we go inside? There are some matters I need to discuss with you." _The 1980s?_ That seems like quite a while for me not to notice…

I nod, turning the keys in the door and opening it. We both step inside.

After turning his head to look around, he whistles and says, "Quite empty, sire. Is there no place to sit?"

"There are some… 'barstools'? I believe that's what they are called – in the kitchen." I point to the hallway leading to the right side of the house.

He sits down on one of the stools while I lean against the counter and wait for him to speak.

After about a minute, he does.

"There's a problem on Olympus."

Normally, this would not be something to catch my attention – there's always a problem on Olympus – but the way Thanatos says the word has me concerned.

"What sort of problem?" I ask, crossing my arms.

"Ares is missing, sire." Ares? _Missing?_

"Missing for how long?"

"Approximately four days." Four days…that's how long I've been in the mortal world. Something's not right.

"Aphrodite has not been seen either." _Aphrodite_. I remember her hands trailing down my arms; her soft and supple body against me; her fingers digging painfully into my leg.

I clench my jaw. "I've seen her."

Thanatos nods. "Hecate suspected she'd make an appearance, sire. You did not see Ares with her?" They're working together. The war dog never learns a lesson.

"I did not."

Thanatos nods again. "Be on the lookout for him, sire. We're not entirely sure what they're planning to do."

"Ares brings you and Eris wherever he goes; you have not seen him?"

"I am everywhere, in multiple places at once, and I have yet to run across him, my lord." That is definitely not good. I can feel my mouth pulling down into a deep scowl.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Death smiles at me. "Don't look so glum, sire."

"They will ruin everything," I say, gritting my teeth. I feel the monstrous anger and frustration I have been struggling to keep in check begin to slip out of the grasp of my control.

"Sire, you need to calm yourself." There's no touch on my hand or reassuring pat on my shoulder. _Be patient._ I breathe out, slowly. _Be still._

"Apologies, Thanatos. My nerves have been rubbed rather raw, as of late." My eyes are tightly shut.

"My lord, you cannot simply stay in this house cooped up all day – it will drive you mad. Get out a little bit; explore the city. Live like a mortal." Live like a _mortal_?

I groan. "I hate this place. The people are loud and obnoxious, the streets smell, I can barely walk-"

"Sire, that's _life_! The sights, the sounds, the smells – this city has a heart that beats loud and strong, can't you hear it?" He lifts his hand to his ear in gesture.

"Death loves life?"

He leans back, smirking. "You are the master of Death – you tell me, sire." I suppose that it makes sense; the two definitely complement each other.

I frown. "I cannot simply go out at my leisure all the time, Thanatos. I have kingly duties to attend to – all that paperwork that you leave by the front door-"

Thanatos licks at one of the piercings on his lip. There are three. "Sire, if I may suggest something – forget about the paperwork."

My leg is throbbing. "Who will take care of it, then?"

He shrugs. "You could always ask Jefferson to do it."

"Jefferson?" Who in all of creation is _that_?

"One of the presidents. He acts as a judge, from time to time."

"Ah, right, right – I knew that." How could I have forgotten his _name_?

I walk to the large window in the front of the room and look out at the city.

"I can never see the stars," I say. I am not entirely sure why I say it; perhaps it is only said in observation.

"You haven't seen the stars since the last winter solstice you attended in 1919, my lord." I can hear his rustling movements on the seat. He sounds like he is standing up. "You're still troubled, sire." Looking out the window, I see dark clouds flash with strikes of lighting, and a low sound of thunder rumbles in the distance.

I turn back towards Thanatos. "I haven't been able to sleep."

He purses his lips and scrunches his brows together. "Is it Cronus?"

I nod. "Partially, but that is really nothing new. These are more of the…" I feel my face heat up, "_Lustful_ variety." Luckily, the boy…Jim…only showed up when I was having a now-routine confrontation with Cronus. I would be mortified if he saw anything else. I am quite certain he would be as well.

He smiles and nods. "You let Aphrodite get too close, didn't you, sire?"

I sigh. "Yes." That was a big mistake.

He laughs loudly, slapping his thighs and chuckling. "Now you know how your brothers feel _all the time_."

"That's _no_ excuse for them to act the way they do." I look back outside the window. "They're not young boys dealing with puberty, and neither am I," I grumble. "We haven't been that for a very long while."

Thanatos chuckles again. His voice is light and soft, like a young man's. He is anything but. "Sire, think about this – this is the first time you've been to the mortal world in almost four millennia. You've seen your queen, whom you love, for the first time in just as many years. And, sire, you are _god_ – not only that, but a god who's been recently touched by Aphrodite. In fact, I'd be more shocked if you _didn't _have any trouble sleeping. Calm yourself; her spell will pass."

"It's not just my dreams, Thanatos. I saw Cora – Persephone – today…I barely felt in control of myself." I screw my eyes shut, remembering the sensations of wandering hands and searing touches – all imagined, all dreamed…All potent.

"My lord, the spell will pass all the same. You are not Zeus or Poseidon." There's loud, cracking thunder outside when Thanatos says their names, and I open my eyes. The lights over us flicker.

I sigh. "Are they fighting again?"

"When are they _not_ fighting, sire?"

"Good point." I hear his footsteps getting closer until he stops right beside me.

"By the by, how is our fair queen, my lord?"

I smile. "We are having dinner together on Friday…" I trail off. How I managed to pull that off, with my body shaking in lust at being so close to her, I will never know. Still, it bothers me that I had so little control over myself…

"Sire, I know that look – Aphrodite's influence will be gone by then. Maybe… Probably."

"Maybe?" I flick my eyes towards him.

"Probably." He smiles wryly back. "You worry too much, sire."

I shift my weight slightly, and my leg screams in protest; pain shoots up the length of my thigh and I bite the inside of my cheek. "Damn this fucking leg!" There are days when I wish Zeus had just cut the whole thing off. I shift again, and the throbbing stops.

"The damage from that scythe is permanent." I would appreciate it if you would stop saying the obvious, my friend.

"I know!" I snap. I rub my left temple and I say, a little softer this time, "I know."

"My lord, this single-minded determination you have is going to make you ill. You cannot simply stay in this house and wait until you have your lady's beck and call. _Or_ when you go out to let your chariot horses let off steam. You have to get out and do other things."

I narrow my eyes. "And what would you _suggest_ I do?"

"Watch a movie, go to a Broadway show, hell, buy some furniture – live, my lord!" His voice is excited and perky. I can't remember if he's always been this way. And since when did he start to use the word "hell"?

"Live like a mortal." Hecate _did_ tell me something similar.

Thanatos shakes his head and grunts. "Sire, if Zeus and Poseidon can attend mortal parties, and live as mortal men to pursue their _mistresses_, I'm sure you can do the same to pursue your _queen_."

"But –" Can I really _live_ as a mortal? I shake my head.

He turns towards me. "Sire, you've experienced love, loss and pain. You rule over mortal souls. You're probably the most human out of all us-"

"Do _not_ insult me," I sneer.

He puts his hands up – a placating gesture. "My lord, if you recall, you fell in love with a mortal woman once."

I blink in surprise. "…That was a long time ago-"

"Orpheus made you weep, sire."

I clench my fists. "….He was talented."

"Indeed he was, sire, but would have wept if you did not understand his pain?"

"I –" Thanatos, stop cutting me off.

"My _point_ is, sire, that these people – these mortals – they're strong, and your connection to them makes _you_ stronger." I don't feel strong. I feel far, far from it.

I squeeze the pummel of my cane. "Mortals are weak, Thanatos – you know that best. "

He pulls at one of the piercings in his right eyebrow. There are four. He flashes a grin at me, bone-white teeth gleaming. "I know you've never really thought much of them…but…living amongst them, I think they'll change your mind." Not likely, but this exchange has made me weary.

I breathe out, slowly and loudly. "Perhaps…perhaps you are right, Thanatos. I will…try." I suppose it _may_ help to ease my boredom.

"That's my king." He lightly punches my shoulder. "Start with buying some furniture."

"…I was actually thinking about buying a television," I chuckle, lightly shaking my head.

He winks at me. "That's a great idea, sire." I lean against the wall. There is no place to sit. "I'll take your suggestion and buy some more furniture first, though."

His phone rings and he looks at it, gray eyes lighting up in surprise. "Well, sire, I must be going. I have a concert to go to."

I snort. "Concert? Thanatos, how do you get anything done?"

He winks at me and smiles, flashing his white teeth again. "The great thing about being Death, my lord, is that I can be in many places at once." He bows his head. "I'll tell Jefferson to start handling the paperwork." He starts to head out of the kitchen, and then I remember something.

"Thanatos, wait."

He turns around, looking puzzled. "Sire?"

" Could you please tell Morpheus to see me as soon as possible? It concerns Cora's –" I pause, "Persephone's boy." I really don't want him seeing anything he shouldn't, but Thanatos knows me well enough to allow me to let that last part go unsaid.

He nods, and his lips curl up knowingly. It's a bit of an odd sight, with all his piercings. "What?" I ask; his expression is puzzling me.

"I knew it."

I cant my head to the side. "Knew what, Thanatos?"

He points at me, and his fingernail is black and gleaming in the fluorescent light that is above us.

"You _do_ care about him."

Come, now, Thanatos; I've had a long day. "Care about who?"

His grin grows wider. "The queen's boy, of course."

No. No, that is completely wrong. I do _not_.

"Don't be _ridiculous_, Thanatos," I growl.

He winks at me. "Try all you want to hide it, sire – it won't work."

I roll my eyes. "Don't you have a place to be?"

He gives me a small salute with his right index finger. "To business," he says, and he walks out of the kitchen and into the hallway, and I hear the sound of rain when he opens the door; hear it stop when he closes it.

"To business," I say, and my voice echoes throughout the empty house.

* * *

HADES

I open my eyes at the feeling of lips on the back of my neck, and hands on the front of my chest. I'm lying on my side. The clock on the nightstand next to the bed reads 2:30 am. A trail of hot kisses moves to the side of my neck and I shiver.

"You miss me," a voice – _her_ voice – whispers in my ear. Her breath is warm.

I nod.

Her hands on my chest begin to unbutton my shirt, trailing her fingers across my abdomen and down my sides, lower, lower, lower, until she cups my groin and rubs me through my jeans, and I clench my jaw and grip a handful of the sheets in front of me.

I feel her soft lips smile against my neck. "You want me."

"I do," I say, my voice coming out as a breathless gasp as I feel one of her hands unzip the jeans and reach underneath the briefs, sliding her hand up and down my length. My eyes roll back at the sensation, and her touch makes me groan. "I love you."

I cannot allow this to continue.

"Then why do you not indulge your desires, my lord?" I feel her hand give me a light squeeze, and wave of pleasure rolls over me.

"Because, my dear," I say breathlessly, reaching my hand down and interweaving it with hers, bringing them both back up to my chest, "you are not real, and I'd rather not make a mess of myself."

She laughs against my neck and I smile. "Would you rather see your father?"

"No," I snort, "Though I suppose I do not have a choice in the matter." The walls around us begin to crumble and turn into ashes, and I sigh. "Perfect timing, as usual." She plants a kiss at the base of my neck.

"He is the Titan of time, my lord," she breaths softly against my neck.

I nod. "Do you have any advice about how I should go about courting you, my love?" I ask her, quietly. There are walls of black stone beginning to form around us now, and the smell of smoke is pungent in the air. Tartarus.

"Just be you," she whispers, fading away until her presence is completely gone. I sit up and zip my jeans. I roll my shoulders and pick up my cane – which has now changed back into my staff – from the foot of my bed and begin walking. Cronus will be waiting for me.

As I get closer to my destination, I hear distinct sounds of shouting – a young male voice. Getting closer, my suspicions are confirmed when I see a glint of dark auburn hair in the firelight.

"Listen here, you ancient-ass-motherfucking-" Yes, it's definitely Jim, alright.

Cronus is there, lying on a slab of rock and looking furious. He's managed to learn how to make himself appear whole in our interactions; it is just an illusion.

His gold eyes find me and he grins. "I never thought I could hate a being more than you or Zeus, or even Poseidon – but this mortal," he breathes out shakily and seething with anger, "This mortal definitely most irritating creature I've ever met." That may be the first time in my life that I have ever agreed with my father.

"Hey, who you calling "irritating", motherfucker? C'mere, I'll punch that grin off your face, you just wait!" The boy is his arms wildly; throwing his punches at nothing. He can't see.

"Just you wait and see, jackass!" He throws another punch and trips over a large piece of stone in front of him, and Cronus begins to cackle wildly.

"You're both fools," Cronus says, angrily.

"That's enough from you," I say, snapping my fingers and setting Cronus ablaze with green flames.

"_Hades_! Hades, that's hardly _fair_!" he screams.

"Enough." The flames die out, and Cronus disappears, for the time being. I shake my head and sigh. I walk over to Cora's son and bend down, grabbing him from underneath his shoulders and lifting him up.

"Lemme guess," he says, looking at me but not seeing me, "You're Hades. Underworld and all that shit." _Shit?_ _Did you just refer to my kingdom as "all that shit"?_ I'm starting to regret saving your life, boy.

I huff out in exasperation. "Yes, I am Hades."

He laughs, and it worries me because he sounds almost like he is on the verge of hysteria.

"What's so funny?" I ask him. He really is acting quite strangely.

"Hahaha, it's just you sound _exactly_ like this crazy motherfucker I met recently."

I smirk. "This is a dream, of course."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "But it's pretty fucked up for me to be dreamin' about you assholes again. I gotta stop eating before I go to sleep…"

Abruptly, our setting changes, and I feel my head spin as I attempt to take in our new surroundings. It's the small house that I had seen in Jim's dream before. I seem him clench his fists.

Well, well. This should be _interesting_.


	11. Before I Call Alex, I Have a Dream

Chapter 11: Before I Call Alex, I Have a Dream

JIM

It's my house. Small, and compact and basically almost an apartment – but it's home. The day is cloudy – either early morning or late afternoon, I can't tell – and suddenly I'm inside of the house without my legs carrying me there. Dreams do weird shit, you know.

Actually, when I first fell asleep, I felt like I was falling – falling, falling, falling, into a dark pit, deeper and deeper, and I couldn't fucking wake up. And then I landed, and I couldn't see anything; I could only feel and smell and hear, and then a voice came out from the darkness, and it sent a chill down my spine.

"Come again, whoreson?" The voice laughed, and it was evil and cold. Still, no matter how scared I am, you insult my mom, you fucking pay.

"Fuck you asshole!" I remember yelling. I remember kicking out as hard as I could in the direction of the voice, hearing a grunt.

"You think you can attack _me_, boy? Cronus, Titan of time?" The voice seemed a little farther off and kinda strained, like maybe I had kicked him right in the nuts. My grin only lasted a little bit, though, I remember. Greek mythology has never been something I've been interested in, but I know some of the basics. And one of the most basic things I know is that Cronus is the dude who _ate _his fucking kids. And people say _I_ have issues. This guy was bad news, but this was my dream, so I just did my thing.

"Listen here, you ancient-ass-motherfucking-"

From there, things went weird. I started talking to Hades, and even though I couldn't see a damn fucking thing, I'm pretty sure he set his dear old dad on fire, by the sounds and the smells and the heat. Hmmph. The Lord of the Dead ain't such a bad guy, I guess. Even though he sounds exactly like the crippled fucker who beat the shit out of me. Like I said, dreams do weird shit.

Anyways, long story short, I ended up at my old house. I say 'I,' but it's actually probably 'we,' 'coz I have the sneaking suspicion that Mr. Underworld is still here with me, even though I can't see him.

I'm in the living room, and I see the clock on the wall reads that it's 6:30 pm. Huh, so it's pretty late. Then, I hear the sound of my own voice, light and small and fuck did I really sound like that when I was a little kid? My mom and me, small me – maybe three or four-year-old me are on the couch, and she's cuddling me, stroking my hair.

" When's Daddy comin' back, Momma?" There's a tightness in my chest, and I feel my breath hitch a little bit.

Shut. Up.

"Daddy will be back soon, baby. He's at work. Go to sleep." She rubs her hands on my back – on three-year-old me, I've decided, and I see myself fall asleep. I glance back at the clock again, and it reads 12:30 am.

I hear voices in the kitchen now, arguing but trying to keep low, and I slowly walk there.

"Where have you _been,_ Leland?" It's my mom, and she looks angry and stressed the fuck out, with her usually free-flowing auburn hair in a ponytail. She looks like she's on the verge of tears, and I clench my fist, which doesn't hurt like I expect it to. Probably 'coz I'm dreaming.

My dad is leaning against the counter, with his arms crossed, and I realize that the only feature I get from him is the cleft in his chin. I don't get his dark brown hair, or his gray eyes, and I think that maybe, just maybe, that's why he left us. 'Coz I look almost nothing like him.

"Out," my dad says, picking a cigarette out from his pack of Camels. He lights it, and my mom pinches the bridge of her nose. She hates it when people smoke.

"I know you were _out_, Leland, but _where_?"

My dad exhales and dusts off his pants. "It's really none of your fucking business, Cora. You're not my damn wife." I feel my heart start to speed up, and I feel my body shaking with rage.

My mom clenches her fists. "Don't you talk to me like that, Leland. It _is _my fucking business, because I'm the_ mother_ of _your_ child." She's not crying, but she looks like she's gonna. I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me at her words, almost like they inflicted pain.

"You still with me, Mr. Underworld?" I look back, and even though I don't see him, and he doesn't say anything, I fucking know he's there. I look back at my parents, and my mom looks like she's barely holding it together. My dad just keeps smoking.

"You damn well know I didn't want to be a father, Cora."

"Well that's too fucking bad, Leland!" my mom yells, throwing up her hands. "Condoms are only 98% effective, and the pill isn't 100% either, and now I'm a mom and you're a dad, so fucking act like it."

My dad peers at her, taking another drag from his cigarette. "You coulda had an abor-"

My mom puts her hands up. "Don't even say it – don't you even damn say it. He's your _son_, Leland." Her voice is quivering, and I wish I could just hold her; comfort her, but I can't, and I know it won't change a thing. Me, I know I got tears streaming from my eyes. My dad never even wanted me…I clench my fists.

He just shrugs, dammit! The asshole just shrugs and moves to the fridge, pulling out a soda and taking a big swig of it.

"Momma? Daddy? Whazz goin' on?" They both peer down at the little three-year-old version of myself, carrying a stuffed purple dragon by the end of its tail. I still have that thing, by the way…. Don't tell anyone, or I'll knock you out, got it? Good.

"How did he get out of the crib?" my dad asks, surprised.

"He hasn't been in a crib for the last year, Leland."

My dad smiles down lightly at me and he ruffles my hair. "Hey buddy," he says, crouching and putting his hands on my shoulders, "Why don't you take Drake and go back to bed?" He smiles at me, and it seems warm and reassuring, and everything a father's smile should be, but as I look at him now, I start to think that my dad was a really good actor.

"Why?" three-year-old me asks, shaking his head and hugging the purple dragon across his chest. He – I? – he looks tired and small and confused and goddamn, my eyes used to be fucking huge and green when I was little!

My dad squeezes my little-self's shoulders and smiles at me again. Seeing him do that, I feel a lump in my chest that I can't get rid of.

"Your daddy and mommy are talkin', buddy. We'll play in the morning, I promise. Go back to bed."

I see my smaller-self nodding, his eyelids drooping, and his feet unsteady. He's lying to you, you damned little idiot. "Night, Daddy," he says, kissing my dad on his clean-shaven cheek. "Love you." My smaller-self hugs the purple dragon close to his small chest and wobbles, wobbles, wobbles, his way to his small room down the hallway.

My dad doesn't say nothin' the entire time, and then he just gets up, picking up his soda with him and taking another swig.

"Leland?"

"Hmm?" He doesn't look back at my mom.

"Remember that night, four years ago when you said you loved me – did you mean it?"

My dad takes one last swig from his soda and tosses it. "I would have said anything to get into your pants. But yeah, I think I did mean it then." My dad starts to head out of the kitchen, but he stops when he hears her laugh.

It's a sad, desperate laugh; forced and terrible-sounding. "What about now?"

He shakes his head. "You know." He walks out of the kitchen, leaving my mom there, stunned and shaking. I walk over to her, try to hug her but my arms just end up going right through her. I try again and again and again, and she just keeps crying and crying and crying and I can't fucking do shit.

"I'm such a fucking idiot!" I yell, smashing my fist against the table. "It's all my fucking fault! All of it!" I smash my hand against the table over and over again and I realize that I'm just screaming at the damn thing – just fucking screaming at it, and my throat starts to constrict and I start to cough and my hands are starting to bleed. 'Cept, the weird thing is, they're bleeding gold, and it's getting all over the table and I just keep smashing and smashing until I feel someone's hands grab my arms and spin me around. Those arms warp around me, and even though I can't see them I can fucking feel their strength, and I can feel my head resting against a hard chest.

"You're fine," I hear a voice say. I guess in my dream he's Hades, and for whatever reason he sounds like the cripple and for whatever reason he's still in this dream. And for whatever reason, he's fucking _hugging_ me, and this is my dream, so _I'm_ the one dreaming that the Lord of the Underworld is giving me a bear hug and something in my mind almost cracks at the ridiculousness of _that_. I really must be losing it.

I try to struggle out of his grip, but it's impossible. "I'm not fucking fine!" I say, yelling against his chest with tears streaming from my eyes. "I'm not fucking okay!" I try punching at his back, but he's just there, solid as a rock even though I can't see him. "Let me go!" I try pushing away from him, but damn, my subconscious has made this guy strong. Strong like the cripple who sent me flying across the street.

"You're fine, Jim," he says again, and though his voice is deep and kinda rough, it's sorta soothing. With my head against his chest, I hear his steady heartbeat; purposeful and rthymic; getting louder with each pump.

"You're fine." I feel my eyes drift shut, and I stop struggling, and around us the world of my dream fades and I wake with a start at my alarm beeping. I'm drenched in fucking sweat, and my t-shirt is soaked through. I look over at the small digital clock on my dresser. 3:30 am. Shit.

"I need to call Alex." I say it aloud, to no one but myself.

I get up fast, feeling my head begin to swim, but it goes away soon enough. Quietly, I open my door and step out of my room, tiptoeing to the living room where we keep our landline. Honestly, I'm surprised we still have one.

I walk as softly as I can, and when I finally – _finally _– reach the phone, I dial Alex's number. It dials and dials, and for a second I'm really fucking scared that maybe he's in jail or even dead. In the end, though, my brother answers.

"Yeah?" His voice comes out groggy and tired, but it's him – it's Alex – and he's alive and not in jail. Goddamn, some good news.

"Alex!" I exclaim, doing my best to keep my voice a whisper.

"Who's this?"

"Little Slugger," I say, whispering.

"Oh shit! Jim, are you alright? We saw that guy hit you with that cane and send you flying, and then suddenly a group of Second Sons jumped us….Echo and Gordo got killed." I grip the phone tighter.

"How many Second Sons were there?" I ask, my voice coming out raspy.

"Around 40. There were so many…Jim, I thought you died. I came back after Lucas and me managed to ditch them through the alleyways. I couldn't find you-"

"I was at the hospital."

"At the hospital? How'd you get there?" He sounds confused.

"Doesn't matter. Look, I heard about some of the guys getting arrested on the news, Lucas and Tugg – what're we gonna do now?"

He doesn't talk for a while. He's thinking. I can hear the cogs in his head churning through the phone.

"We gotta lay low for a while, Little Slugger. Boss John isn't too happy with what happened, and I think the cops are still looking for me." Damn it all, that is _not_ what I wanted to fucking hear.

"Alex-"

"Lay low, Little Slugger. You'll be a man soon. Give me a couple of months." A couple of _months_?!

"What?! No fucking way! That' way too long, Alex. You can't make me wait that long!" I know my voice is starting to get louder, but for some reason I just can't bring myself to care.

Still, another part of me feels relieved that I won't have to try and kill another person for a while.

Shut up.

"It's the best I can do, Little Slugger. Don't call me again. I'll call you."

"Alex, wait-" It's too late, though; he's hung up. I almost call him back. I don't, though. He said not to.

I put the phone back on the receiver and walk slowly back to my bedroom. I lie back down in my bed, staring up at the ceiling.

I sigh. "It's going to be a long fucking day."

* * *

A/N:

I hope you all liked this chapter! Read and review, my lovelies! :D


	12. You're Miranda, and I'm Ferdinand

Chapter 12: You're Miranda, and I'm Ferdinand

CORA

I'm sitting by a waterfall, overlooking the cliff with my back against a tree. There's a soft yellow light coming from the sun, but when I look for it in the sky I can't see it. Still, the color of the light tells me that it's setting, or about to set.

Dusk.

I see people and rows of beautiful houses far out from the base of the cliff, and I see lights and hear sounds coming from the from them. The people are dancing, and I start to hear music. I guess there's a party going on.

I smile, leaning back against my tree. I feel…nice. I haven't had a nice dream for a while, and it's kind of soothing, you know? I sit up when I hear some rustling beside me and look over, and my breath catches when I see what made the sound.

It's a huge black wolf. Like ancient Dire wolf huge. I'm starting to panic, I know it. I keep looking at the wolf, and I get startled when I see its eyes: clear, blue, piercing…_Hank's_.

The wolf's got Hank's eyes, and it just keeps standing there. Looking at me. I start to notice more of its features now; a furless patch of skin that runs between those two blue orbs, a gnarled patch of fur and cuts at its side, and then it starts walking towards me and I shoot up onto my legs. There's a big stick that I hadn't noticed before sitting on a rock beside me. I pick it up and hold it like a baseball bat. I'm not about to get eaten in my dream.

"Stay back," I say, hissing at the thing. "I used to play softball in high school. I know how to use this thing."

The beast cocks its head to the side and makes a noise in the back of its throat, almost like it's asking: "Are you really going to hit me with that?"

"I'm warning you, stay back." Really, though; a big stick against a huge wolf isn't going to do much. A girl's gotta stay positive, right?

The wolf seems like it shakes its head, and it walks closer to me, and it's then that I notice the limp on one of its back legs.

_Hank_.

I just keep staring at it; staring and staring until it's standing right in front of me, and I'm shaking in fear. This damn thing is making my dream turn into a nightmare.

Then, it does something that I'm totally _not_ expecting.

It nuzzles my belly, pressing its nose forward and rubbing its huge head against me. It gets more insistent, and I hear some whimpering and I drop the stick, too stunned to do anything else. It makes a sound at the back of its throat, and with all its whimpering I'm thinking it's saying: "Pet me already!"

I slowly reach my hand down to the top of its head and pat it. I guess this will stay a dream for now.

"Hey there, big fella. You hurt?" I ask, nervously. I rub my hand on the top of its head and its ears. Its fur is soft and warm. The animal makes a sound at the back of its throat again, which sounds kinda like: "No, not really. Keep petting me."

Then it – he, I guess – he just sort of plats down on the side of his body that isn't gnarled and he makes a motion with his head, almost looking like: "What are you waiting for? Come sit with me."

I cross my arms. "You're insistent, aren't you?"

No sound, but the animal just lays his head on his large paws, and I sit down with him, leaning my head against his fluffy side. Hey, don't look at me like that – I need a pillow, and this will be soft and warm. He asked for it, anyway.

I snuggle more into him, running my fingers through the gnarled – but still soft – fur at his side. My head goes up and down each time he breathes in and out. My fingers trace what feel scars under the fur. "You got yourself into a pretty big mess, didn't you big fella?"

No sound from him again, but his big head does get close enough to me to lick my face. Um. That was kinda gross, Mr. Wolf. (Mr. Wolf-That-Sorta-Kinda-Looks-Like-Hank).

"That wasn't nice," I say, lightly slapping his side. He makes a sound at the back of his throat, but it doesn't sound irritated or angry. Playful is more like it. After a while I relax against my furry companion, rising and falling against with his steady breathing.

The rhythm gets me thinking about something that's been bothering me.

"Hey, Mr. Wolf," I say, and he lifts his head slightly up at me, "Can I trust you?"

He makes this grunting noise, and I guess I take it to mean: "Of course."

"There's this guy…his name is Hank. You kinda remind me of him, by the way…," Yeah, I'm having a conversation with a wolf in my dream. Weirder things have happened, let me tell you. "…And anyways, well…He's rich. Like, super-rich, judging by his car. He told me that he's a businessman, but I don't really _buy_ it. I mean, he's got this cane with a skull on it, and I know he _needs _it, but – what kind of businessman does that, you know? Have a _skull_ for a cane handle? …He was able to pick up Jim like it was nothing, too…Just at the drop of a hat. Like, wouldn't he be _busy_ or something? Not to say that I'm not grateful or anything…And that's another thing, too – what was a rich guy like him doing in Bed Stuy, where he found Jim?"

The beast does make a sound then, almost irritated, but it's soft, still – l think he's trying to say: "You're over-analyzing."

I don't stop though. "And he's got this huge scar on his face, and the whole time he was telling me that he's a businessman, I kept thinking 'wouldn't that scar scare people off?'. Like maybe, giantess scar – take warning. I mean, maybe it's shallow, but I know that presentation in business is important…" I start to laugh, "And now I got a date with this guy. Am I crazy?"

He grunts, and it's almost like he says, "No." And then he licks me again, playfully, and it catches me off-guard. C'mon, that's gross, Mr. Wolf. "Well, besides licking my face, you're a pretty good listener."

I relax my head against his side again, and I start to fall asleep in my dream.

And then I wake up in the real.

I look at my clock, which reads 6:45 am. Time to start getting ready for the day.

HADES

Ethan Allen furniture. I suppose it looks nice enough. I have been staring at the gallery for 30 minutes.

"What can I help you with, sir?"

I turn towards a man with gray hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. I smile lightly at him.

"I need some help with buying furniture."

He smiles at me in return. "Right this way. I'll take you to our interior designer, Adrian." As we walk, he looks at my leg. "Soldier?" Not really, but I suppose you could say that.

I nod.

"My brother came back from Vietnam with a similar injury – shrapnel."

I nod again. We walk into the back office, and the man calls out for the interior designer.

"Adrian, I have a customer here for you!" A man with golden curls turns around and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. I know that hair, and I know that face. _Apollo_.

"Uncle?! What – what are you _doing_ here?" Insolent little snot.

"I may not be your father, but you _will_ show me respect when addressing me," I growl, narrowing my eyes.

He nods, shakily. He is afraid. "All the same, Uncle, why are you here?"

I roll my eyes. "What does it look like? I'm here to buy furniture."

JIM

School doesn't seem much different. Well, besides the fact that the whole football team is gunning for me now. Dave was suspended, I guess. Two weeks. Long time.

Still, his stupid fucktard friends keep harassing me. I open my locker, and there's yellow paint all over my books. Fucking great.

I head into Mr. Gordon's class in the period right before lunch and sit down, carrying my now-ruined copy of _Heart of Darkness_ with me. Mr. Gordon walks in, looking crossed and more pissed off than usual and he glares at me, hard.

I grin at him. "Hiya, Mr. G."

Viola walks in and he glares at her too. She sits in front of me and class starts. Around 30 minutes in, she passes a note back to me. That's kinda weird, so I open it, read it.

It says:

_Wells,_

_ Meet me at lunch on the bleachers. Let's catch up._

_ -V_

_ P.S. Know your answers._

I put note in my jacket pocket, not saying anything. Viola wants to catch up, huh? Alright, sounds good to me.

The bell rings a little bit later, and all the kids come rushing out to the cafeteria, making a line that seems like it's a fucking mile long. I'm _really_ glad I brought my lunch today.

I head outside onto the track field, and I see her sitting up at the top of the bleachers. There's a slight breeze making her hair blow, and goddamn, she looks pretty.

I walk up the bleachers, and I feel my palms start to sweat. Shut up. She smiles at me, and I think my brain melts right there. She has dimples, dammit! Some fucking way, I manage to get to her without passing out and falling backwards to my fucking death on the bleachers.

She pats the seat next to her, and I sit down. "Hey, Vy," I say. Real smooth. Idiot.

"What's up, Jim Wells?" She's smiling at me and I can't think straight.

"The sky." Oh God, did I really just say that? Fuck it. Someone kill me now, please. There's no coming back from _that_ fuck up.

I think she's gonna say something – call me a weirdo or creep or something, I dunno. Instead, though, she laughs.

"Same old Wells," she says, giggling at me. My cheeks feel really fucking hot. Shut up, dammit!

I try to laugh it off – try to be smooth. "So, uh, what's up with you?" I take out the plastic container from my lunch bag and a plastic fork. Leftover spaghetti. It's cold, but it still tastes good. She pulls out a sandwich from her bag and takes a small bite from it. Goddammit all; she's even cute when she _eats_. There's no way I'm gonna survive this.

"Oh, nothing much. Mr. Reyes didn't call my dad for what I said to Mr. Gordon yesterday. I got off scott-free," she says, winking at me. "So do you still have that purple dragon?"

That surprises me, and I just keep staring and staring at her, and her hand comes up to my face and oh God she's going to touch my face-

"You got some sauce on your cheek, sailor," she says, wiping my cheek with her thumb. That's it. I can die now. Rapture me, Jesus – I've reached happiness.

Okay, I totally know I'm blowing this. I gotta calm down. She's just a girl. A really, really pretty girl who I've had a crush on since forever and fuck this is not helping _at all_.

"So you still have that purple dragon?" I guess I forgot to mention that she's the one who gave it to me. Well, her parents bought it 'coz she was only three, but you know what I mean. She would always tell me she picked it out for me. Just for me.

"Uh…"

"You didn't throw him away didja?" Her eyebrows go up, and she almost looks sad. Oh, c'mon, girl – don't look at me like that.

" ….No…," I say, kinda cringing around the words. Her dark chocolate eyes light up, and I know that this girl just has me wrapped around her little finger.

"Coolio!" she says, wrapping her arms around my neck for a quick hug. "You kept your promise."

"That's what I do," I say, trying to grin at her, but I'm pretty sure my face comes out all wrong.

I am _so_ fucked.

She sits back and starts in on her sandwich again, taking another bite. "So Wells, Batman or Superman?"

"Batman." That's easy.

She grins at me. "Good answer. Next question: Is Derek Jeter God, or is he God?"

"Derek Jeter is still alive, Vy."

She waves her hand. "Whatevs, Jim, just do it. For old time's sake."

I smirk. This is the chick I remember. "Derek Jeter is just the guy who signs you in at the pearly gates; Babe Ruth is God."

"Right you are, sailor. You get a candy bar." She pulls out a Baby Ruth bar and tosses it to me, and I break it in half through the plastic and hand her half. Our hands touch, but she doesn't pull away like I expect her to. She just smiles at me, and I smile back.

"Half a candy bar. The princess gets the rest," I say, laughing a little bit. "Maybe I should call you Miranda, since every guy here is your Caliban. Princess Miranda. Sounds nice." She's as pretty as a princess.

Maybe more.

Fuck it – _definitely_ more.

She rolls her eyes. "There you go; getting all 'smart' on me, Wells." She nudges my shoulder a little bit with hers, and I nudge her back. Pretty soon, it's a damn war; we're trying to stomp on each other's feet, and we're laughing, laughing, laughing, and I feel like I haven't laughed this hard in a damn fuckin' while. And it feels like –

Like it did when we were best buds hanging out at the neighborhood park.

Comfortable.

Fun.

Nice.

After a while we stop, and we both lean back against the bleachers.

"What happened to us, sailor?" she asks, leaning her head against my shoulder like she used to do when we were little.

"I dunno, Vy." It's kinda true, but another part of me knows it was because of the move.

"I've missed ya, sailor," she says, hugging my arm.

"Ditto," I reply. Really, really missed you.

"…Dave is Caliban," she says like a minute later, and it's a whisper; a murmur, and I barely catch it. "After you left with that dude with the cane yesterday, I broke up with him….I should have done it a long time ago. He hasn't stopped texting me since."

"Vy?" _Did that asshole hurt you?_ I wanna ask her. _Did he fucking hurt you?_ I look at her, scratching my stitches, and she looks back at me.

She smiles. "Has anyone ever told you how pretty your eyes are, Jim? Like a forest in spring…"

Woah, Vy. What are you on and where can I get some?

"Don't be silly Vy," I chuckle. I _have_ to chuckle, or else my brain will fucking explode because, fuck, the most beautiful girl in school just _complimented_ me.

She giggles, and it's singsong and beautiful, like everything else about her. "Dave is Caliban, so I guess you're Ferdinand."

Holy shit.

Does that mean-

That-

Fuck.

I look down at her. "_Me_?" I ask, and my voice comes out all high-pitched. Shut up.

She slaps my belly. "Look who's bein' silly now. Yeah, you, Jim Wells. Who else is here?"

The bell rings and she gets up, and holds out her hand. I take it, and she helps me to sit up.

"So, as Ferdinand, where do you plan on taking Miranda?"

"Uh…" C'mon, you moron, think of something! "Uh, there's a movie called Looper out. Wanna see it?"

She grins at me. "Sure would, sailor. Friday after school." My heart is pumping because I realize that my hand is still wrapped around hers.

"We'll have to sneak in," I say.

She winks at me, leans her head in and gives me a kiss on the cheek. "You're a bad boy – I'm sure you can manage it." Guh, hurr durr. Sorry, Jim Wells' brain has officially left the building. Any new messages you would like to leave will be sent directly to his brain's voicemail. Note: this is due to the unbelievable fact that he has just – _somehow_ – managed to score a date with childhood best friend and now resident school hottie, Viola Guerrero.

"See ya around, Jim Wells!" she yells, running off to class.

I touch the spot on my cheek where she kissed me. "See ya around, Vy…," I whisper.

There's butterflies in my stomach, and my feet are all wobbly, but you know what?

I feel fucking _fantastic_!

A/N: I'm not sure about the frequency of updates from here on out. Some may be quick; some may take up to a week or two. Rest assured, I will finish this story. I'm glad so many of you love it. :)

As always, leave your comments and reviews.


	13. Are You Sure About That Name?

A/N: Bit of a short chapter here, folks – only about 900 words or so. Nonetheless, I hope you like it. I know you all want to get to the date, but I found that in my last story, I had lots of uneven pacing. I want to keep the pacing of this story fairly consistent. Besides, slow-burn love stories are always more rewarding, no? Don't worry – the date is coming up soon. ;) As always, leave your comments and reviews!

Chapter 13: Are You Sure About That Name?

CORA

My days run like clockwork, usually. I drop Jim off at school in the morning, head to class for a few hours, and work at the bookstore from 1:00 to 3:00. Usually. Things haven't really been, ahem, _usual_ lately, that's for sure.

Let's run off a tally of the weird crap I've had to deal with the past five days:

First thing; Jim's been to the hospital.

Second thing; I've got no car (which made buying cat stuff on my free time today a real hassle, by the way).

Third thing; I had to cover for Giovanni until 5:00 yesterday, and that rarely happens.

Fourth thing; a mysterious man named Hank has suddenly popped into my life, and he decided to just pay for Jim's hospital stay. Everything. Like it was nothing.

Fifth thing; Also, I'm going on a date with him. I'm still a little astounded at that…(I'll have to call Rachel and let her know about it soon, or else I'll _never_ hear the end of it).

And the sixth thing ….Jim is smiling.

That last one probably doesn't sound _that_ weird, but trust me; it's weird.

"Good day at school today?" I ask him. I'll play the part of Annoying Mom, and you play the part of Obedient Son.

Ha, yeah right.

Fat chance of that happening.

He answers, though – and that's even weirder. "Yeah, Mom. It was a really good day." He's got a goofy grin on his face – all teeth and wistful eyes, and my first thought is: _Weed? _ But his eyes are clear – focused, you know? – and he doesn't smell smoky – and there's been enough times that he's come home smelling like the stuff that I can tell, even with him sitting across from me on the train. So my second thought is: _it's gotta be a girl_, and that realization makes me smile, too. _Gotcha, kiddo_.

I could play the role of Embarrassing Mom right now, but he's happy, so I won't push it. Besides, I've got other things in mind.

We come to our stop on the subway, but I stay sitting. We've got one other place to go. He scratches his stitches. He'll cut his head right open if he isn't careful.

"Jim, stop that."

"It itches." He looks around, confused and still scratching at the stitches on his temple. "Hey wait isn't this our stop? Why aren't we getting out?"

I shake my head, smiling. "You'll see."

* * *

"The shelter?!" His voice comes out all excited and high-pitched, and I have to suppress the urge to giggle because I know – I friggin' _know_ that'll embarrass him, and he'll be sulking for the rest of the week.

"There's a surprise waitin' for you in there. For your birthday."

He looks at me, and his eyes are big and his smile is even bigger, and he rushes up to me, gives me a quick hug, whispers, "Thank you," and runs into the animal shelter like his feet are on fire. And yeah, I feel my heart sort of melt.

When I walk in, he's already holding the kitten – well maybe the kitten is holding _him_, because the little animal is curled up on his shoulder and nuzzling him. The best part? It's got its little arms curled around his neck, and it really looks like the little gray fuzzball is hugging my son.

If I had an iPhone, I'd take a picture. And Jim – oh Jim, he's _beaming_; and it's one of those rare times that I can see him past all his layers, see him how he _really_ is. It gives me hope.

"So what're you gonna name him?"

He thinks about it for a moment, petting the purring animal on his shoulder. "I think I'm gonna name him ….Hades."

_Hades?_ There's this brief moment when he says the name that I see a flash of something; a dark throne, I think, but it's fading, and just as soon as it comes, it leaves; and I feel like a person who just forgot something they were about to say or do. It's there, but I can't reach it.

It feels…blocked.

"Hades?" I ask, and the word comes out easily, comfortably. "What made you pick that?" Honestly, it's kind of a weird name for a _cat_. I was expecting him to name the thing "Gandalf" because of its gray fur. Hell, "Tiger" or something – but "Hades"? I don't know why, but it just gives me a strange feeling in my gut; kinda like when people name their dogs "George" or "Martha" – like, those are people names, you know? Though I've never met a guy named "Hades"…but you get what I mean.

"I dunno….Just a feeling, I guess." The kitten meows and nuzzles Jim's neck, and he laughs. Hmmm. Looks _somebody's _still ticklish. "Besides," he says, kissing the little kitten's head, "I think he likes it."

The kitten makes a contented meow and shuts its eyes. Huh, I guess maybe he does like it.

Hades the Cat. No wait, scratch that.

Hades the _Kitten_.

Why not? Things have been weird anyway; this is just another thing to add to the list.


	14. This Is Your Favorite Restaurant?

A/N: Another short chapter here, folks. Also, watch out for typos – they be in full force here. I'll go back a try to edit the chapter some more when I post it. I always seem to be able to catch more of them when I read the docs on the site format for whatever reason. As always, leave your reviews ! :)

Chapter 14: This Is Your Favorite Restaurant?

HADES

"How about this?" Apollo is peering at me with his gold eyes.

I shrug. "It's a chair."

"Yes, I know it's a chair, Uncle – do you like it?"

The chair is white, with sleek, dark, wooden arms and feet. It is elegant, I suppose.

"Perhaps," I say.

"Perhaps?" Apollo groans. "Here, take a seat and see if you like it."

So I do. The chair is comfortable. "It will suffice." I nod towards a large black leather couch sitting across from me. "That will as well," I say.

We spend hours going through the store, and after a while my leg begins to ache; we still proceed. Chairs, tables, lamps, rugs – most of which are black or white or a combination of the two – are all bought. The dining table is large, dark and somewhat rustic. I rather like it. I am told that my furniture will arrive in two days.

After Apollo takes me through the store, he invites me to go with him to a restaurant called Hooter's. He tells me that the food is good, but his crooked grin makes me suspicious. Still, I oblige him, and follow him down the street. We get close to the restaurant, and I am surprised – it seems quite large, and there is a large owl painted on its wall. I am reminded of Athena. Perhaps she is the one who told Apollo about this place? As we walk into the restaurant, my nose is hit with the smells of spices and sauces and chicken, and I realize how hungry I've gotten. Then I notice a young blonde woman walking up to us and what in all of Tartarus is she _wearing_?

"Hey, boys," she says smiling at us, "Bar, booth or table?"

"Table," Apollo says, smiling at her in return. My face feels hot.

She bats her eyelashes. "Follow me." She turns around and leads us to a table, and all the while my hand hurts because I have my cane in an iron-grip. We sit down.

"Your server will be Erin," she says, winking at Apollo before she leaves.

"_This_ is your favorite restaurant?" I hiss. He looks at me and rolls his eyes. "Come now, Uncle – you're no prude." All the girls in the restaurant are wearing the same thing – orange…shorts? I think that that is what they are, anyway; and tight t-shirts. If Zeus were here…well, I'd rather not think about it.

"Apollo," I say, pinching the bridge of my nose, "Why did you bring me here?"

"Wine tells the truth," he replies, smiling that crooked grin at me.

"We're not having wine."

He wags his finger at me, still grinning. "Don't be so obtuse. My favorite things are wine, women and song," he winks at me, "In this case, women will "tell the truth". I have questions for you, and I want answers."

"What makes you think I'll answer truthfully?" I growl. Annoying golden-haired brat.

"Ahhhh, that's the beauty of it, Uncle. You'll be so distracted that you'll do it without even thinking about it."

"I could just leave then," I say.

He is still grinning. "You won't. You have nothing else to do. You're lonely. One of those two reasons is true; maybe both. Whatever the case, you won't leave." I have strong urge to strike him, but he's right. I won't leave.

Suddenly, I hear a high-pitched, girlish voice to my left. "Adrian? Adrian, is that you?" I think I feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. The girl who comes to our table is another blonde, with an even larger chest than the girl before. I glare at Apollo, but he seems too distracted to even notice me, hugging the girl from the side and whispering something in her ear that makes her giggle.

"Who's your friend, Adrian?" she purrs, sending me a sultry glance.

"Erin, meet my perpetually gloomy uncle, Hades," he says, laughing.

I extend my arm out, and she shakes my hand. "That's just a nickname he gives me," I say, shooting an angry glance towards Apollo. He winks at me in return. "My name is Hank," I tell her.

"He's handsome," she says into his ear, loud enough for me to hear. I rub my temple.

"Hey, I thought _I_ was the handsome one," Apollo complains, pouting. She pats his shoulder. "No, Adrian, honey, you're the _hot_ one. Get your shit together."

"Sorry baby, you make me feel all fuzzy inside and I can't think straight." She laughs and whispers something in his ear that I can't hear, and he nods excitedly.

"What will you have, boys?" she asks after what seems to be five minutes of inane flirting.

"You know what I want," Apollo says, winking at her. She blushes. "And what about you, Hank?"

"I'll have whatever he usually orders," I say, nodding towards Apollo.

"Mmmkay. Drinks?"

"We'll both have a couple of beers," Apollo answers.

"Mmmkay. Be right back boys," she says, and then she leaves. Finally.

"If you're going to try and get me drunk, it's not going to work."

"Relax," he says, flipping his golden locks from his eyes, "I'm not going to try and do that. And besides, you'll be so flustered I won't need to. Also, that scar looks uglier when you frown, Uncle; you should learn to smile more."

"I smile," I grumble.

"Really? I've never seen you smile."

"Apollo, my dear nephew – that's because I don't _like_ you."

He sits back in his chair, grinning at me. "Be sure, the feeling is mutual." The girl, Erin, comes out with our drinks …and two other girls. I suppress the overwhelming urge to groan.

"That's the guy," Erin says, pointing at me while she places our drinks on the table. I choose to look at my hands. She leaves again to get our food. Her two friends sit in the chairs to my right and left, and I suddenly feel very trapped. Apollo takes a gulp from his glass. He is _very_ amused, apparently.

"Hey, Hank," the girl on my right says. She has dark skin and curly hair. "My name's Melina, and that's Lizzy," she says, nodding her head towards the girl on my left. I turn my head to look at her, and she is pretty, like all the other girls dressed in ridiculous outfits in this place.

"What's up, handsome?" they say in unison. I shut my eyes for a moment. I just want to go back to my brownstone.

"He's a bit shy," I hear Apollo say, and I grind my teeth together. Apollo, I am not sure what your father has told you, but I am _not_ shy. Not in the least. That is ridiculous.

"Awww, don't be shy, sweetie," Melina says.

"Yeah – you're _so_ cute," the other girl squeaks. "And that scar – damn _sexy_." Please, stop.

"My uncle just moved to the city," Apollo says, taking another drink from his glass.

"Oh really!" Melina says, excitedly. "What brings you to the Big Apple, Hank?"

I clear my throat. "Um…" Before I have to finish, Erin the Blonde comes back with our food.

"Here you go, boys." She sits down next to Apollo. Wonderful. "So what're you guys talking about?" she asks. Her voice is annoyingly high-pitched, to the point that each time she speaks, I feel a sharp stabbing sensation in my ears.

"Pretty Melina here was just asking what brought my dear, dear uncle to the city." Damn you, Apollo.

"Oh cool!" Erin the Blonde exclaims. I think my ears are bleeding. "So what does bring you here, Hank?"

I sigh. Apollo is smiling at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You haven't won yet. "You can't tell anyone, about anything I tell you at this table," I say, looking directly at Apollo. He is still challenging me. That will not last long.

"Don't worry, babe; we won't tell anyone," Lizzy says, touching my shoulder. I consciously have to keep myself from flinching.

"That's not good enough," I say, still staring at Apollo. "You have to swear it."

"Girl scout's honor," Erin says.

I shake my head. "Still not good enough." She pouts. "I swear to God I won't tell anyone, sweetie."

"I don't want you swear to God; I don't _care_ if you swear to God," I growl, and that startles her.

Melina laughs, nervously. "Then who do you want us to swear to, honey?"

I narrow my eyes, glaring at Apollo. "I want you to swear on the River Styx that you won't tell anyone about what I've said at this table."

"The River Styx? Like, Greek mythology River Styx?" Lizzy asks. She sounds excited. "You're uncle's a nerd like me, Adrian." There is only a certain amount of vapid and inane conversation I can tolerate before I incinerate something. That threshold has been crossed twice in this restaurant.

"See? My uncle _is_ Hades. Look! He's even got a skull for a cane handle!" Apollo tries to laugh nonchalantly, but I know I've cornered him.

"Do you accept these terms?" I ask, gritting my teeth. The three girls all say it, but I don't care about them. "_Adrian?_"

He narrows his eyes at me for a moment, but his mood abruptly changes, and he nods, laughing gregariously. "Fine, fine, Uncle. I swear by the River Styx that I will tell no one about this conversation, or the contents of this conversation."

"Very well," I say, satisfied. I take a drink from my beer. "I will tell you the tale."

* * *

By the end, I've had four glasses and I feel a bit numb. I may have gone a bit far, I'll admit it… and that's not just with the drinks.

As I started telling my tale, I began to gain an audience. The girls complained that I didn't make the newcomers swear on the Styx. I changed certain things to make them appropriate for the humans. More "believable," shall I say. Actually, I've had to change_ many_ things, but I'm sure Apollo can make the connections without me having to spell it out for him.

Now there is a group of about eight servers crying and hugging each other, and 20 or so men who have followed their servers to our table.

"Oh God, Hank, that is _so_ romantic!" Melina cries, hugging Erin. I want to cringe.

"Romantic? Melina, that ain't romantic – this guy's gone through some shit," an older man says from a booth to my left. He is the manager. "Sorry about your girl, brother." That seems like a better description for it, yes. I would not call my story 'romantic'.

"Shut up Damian, it's beautiful," Lizzy says. My face feels hot again.

"So let me get this straight," Apollo says, pointing at me, "You're here to win back the heart of your high school sweetheart – the one who got away – and she doesn't remember you _at all_ since she had a bad car accident in college after she moved to New York. And she has a kid from _another_ dude? A dude that's not _you_?" He's looking at me, and his expression tells me: _I understand_. "That's…rough, Uncle Hank." Rough is putting it mildly, but I'm glad you made the effort, Apollo.

I smile lightly. "It's not all bad, though. I have a date with her on Friday."

And then, the strangest thing happens – the crowd _cheers_.

"That's the first time I've ever seen you smile, Uncle," Apollo says, winking at me. "I have a sneaking suspicion that it won't be the last. Prophecy is my forte, after all." I grin at him.

Apollo, you may very well be right.


	15. An Exchange of Dates

A/N: I apologize for my extreme failure of keeping typos out of my writing. I seriously need a beta reader.

Chapter 15: An Exchange of Dates

JIM

When we get home, I'm still buzzing from all the crap that's happened to me today. Sure, it's shitty that I won't be able to see Alex or my other brothers…but I got a date with Viola. Viola, the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. The girl I've had a crush on since forever.

And now my mom's gotten me a cat, and damn it all – that's just fucking awesome. So I can't help myself when I ask:

"So Mom, does this mean I'm not grounded?" I'm helping her clean our dishes. She made enchiladas. They were fucking delicious. The radio was on when we were eating; apparently there's been a lot of fires in the neighborhood. Arsonists, the guy on the radio said. I'm pretty sure it's some group of Second Son assholes – that's what they do when they try to push into a new territory. They've killed lots of people in the last few days doing that shit, and just thinking about those assholes makes my blood boil.

She snorts. "Hell no."

"Hell no, I'm not grounded anymore?"

From the corner of my eye, I see her smile. Nope; guess I'm still grounded. Fucking A.

"Nice try, kiddo. Hell no, you are _still_ grounded." See? Told you. I still gotta try though.

"But-"

"No."

"But Mom-"

"No, Jim."

"Mom-"

She turns to face me, and let me tell you, she looks scary as hell. "James Pleiades Wells," oh shit, here it comes, "I just bought you a cat. Don't argue with me. You're grounded, and you'll stay grounded until I say otherwise, capiche?" I open and close my mouth a couple times, kinda like a fish when it's outta water. Time to pull out the trump card.

"Viola asked me to go out with her to the movies after school on Friday."

"Viloa Guerrero? Maya and Cesar's little girl? " my mom asks, surprised.

"Yeah." I'm pretty sure I've got a stupid grin on my face. Shut up.

She nods, like she's thinking about it. Meanwhile my hands are in the kitchen sink, covered in foamy soap. My fingers are gonna end up looking like fucking prunes. My cat is nudging my leg with his head now, too. He got used to our apartment really, really quick.

"Mom?"

"Let me think about it, Jim. Go take… 'Hades' to your room and finish your homework. I'll take care of the rest of the dishes." Well, that ain't a 'no', so I guess I'll take it. I wipe my hands on a paper towel and pick up my cat, and he meows and clings to my shoulder. "C'mon, little dude – let's get to work." It's 8:00, and I've got a five-page essay to write on Heart of Darkness that's due tomorrow. I guess I might as well fucking do it – it's not like I got anybody to hang out with.

Fuck it.

Maybe I'll even try for an A.

* * *

CORA

It's around 8:30 when I finish washing the dishes. I'm still not sure what to do about Jim. I know he's always had a big crush on Viola – I could see it even when they little kids….But I want to keep him grounded. He only got the cat today because they were going to sell it another family if I didn't, and I couldn't let that happen. The fuzzball was too perfect.

Still, Jim was really happy afterschool, so he's probably telling the truth about Viola asking him to go see a flick. And I know they really haven't hung out together since they were 11 or 12. This might be good for him. But what if he's lying?

I'm not sure what to do.

I guess it's time to call Rachel.

I head into our small living room and take out my cell phone. It's an old Motorola Razr, and the camera lens is cracked. It doesn't take her long to pick up.

"_Heeeeeeey,_ _sexy_. How's it?" Oh boy, she sounds excited.

"Hey Rach. Bobby there?"

"Would I sound this happy if he wasn't, chica?" I knew it. I smile. Bobby's a good guy; hardworking contractor, and a little gruff, but sweet. Rachel told me she fell in love with him after their first date. Silly as it sounds, I believed her. She's the kind of person who can. They've been dating for a few months.

"He propose yet?" I ask her, teasing.

She huffs. "I'm workin' on it, I'm workin' on it. But guess what he did do?"

"…Offer to take you to the Bahamas for your birthday?"

"Ha, I wish, chica. No – he asked me to move in with him! It's a sexyass studio apartment, where the kitchen and the bedroom and bathroom are all in one big damn room." Well, shit. In the background, I can hear Bobby shout, "More sex!" I hear a sound and I think Rachel slaps him.

"Congrats, Rach. Now I won't have to see anymore nasty PDA from you two."

"Oh shut it, chica. That was _one_ time."

"What was seen cannot be unseen." She laughs, and in the background I can hear Bobby's raspy voice laughing too, and then I hear him say, "Ow."

"You're not abusing him are you, Rach?"

"Just a little bit. Anyway, what's up?" Okay, I gotta brace myself for this. Rachel will explode like an atom bomb of girlish excitement when I tell her.

"So, you remember the guy – Hank?"

"Rugged Amazingness? How could I _not_ remember him?"

Here it comes. "He asked me out." I hold my phone out away from my ear when she makes her trade-marked, high-pitched squeal. I call it, _The Banshee_.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. I _knew_ it! I knew it. Bobby, you owe me 20 bucks!"

"You were betting on whether I was gonna get asked out by this guy?"

"Hell yeah, chica. Don't sound so depressed – you got a date with a sizzling hot man. No, not _you_, Bobby. I love Cora, but we're _not_ having a threesome with her, okay. Quit fantasizing." I hear Bobby make a disappointed sound in the background and I giggle.

"Where's the date at?" she asks me.

"I dunno. He just told me he'd pick me up at 6:30 on Friday."

"So you dunno if it's fancy or casual."

"Nope."

She laughs. "Bobby, I'm trying to have a serious conversation here, stop tickling me." I hear him sigh in the background.

"Sounds like you're in a bit of a pickle there, Rach. You still at your folks' place?"

"Yeah – the annoying one here came up to meet them. Anyway, he's _not_ important right now. Yeah, that's right, Bob, I said it. Sue me. Chica, tell me more."

I sit down on our old couch. "Okay, well. Jim's got a date on Friday, too. His old friend asked him out. Viola – you remember her?"

"Oh hell yeah I remember her. Jimmy and her used to hang out all the time. But wait, I thought you grounded the kid?"

"Oh he is _so_ grounded…That's the problem. And I haven't told him about Hank asking me out yet, either." I'm pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Cora…"

I'm trying to keep my voice low; I don't want Jim hearing any of this. "I know, I know. I was gonna tell him today. Now he's got a date, and I wanna let him go because I know how much he likes this girl….and I know that he'll freak out about me going on a date, too. Plus, what if he's lying to me?"

"Woah, woah. Slow down there, girl." She's right; I'm talking too fast.

I take in a deep breath. "Sorry. I just…I don't know what to do."

"And in your infinite wisdom, you called me. A wise decision."

"Rach, you're making me laugh, and you're _not_ helping."

She huffs again. "Alright, alright, fine. Kay, here's my idea: you do an exchange."

"An exchange?"

"Yeah, like…an exchange of your dates." Um…what?

"I'm not sure I follow, Rach."

"Hear me out, okay? Bobby's starting to rub my back right now, so I don't have much time." Rach, c'mon. I try to muffle a grossed-out groan.

"Your fucking business is none of my fucking business," I say, and I hear them both laugh. Seriously, though; they'll start to have sex while I'm still on the line if this conversation doesn't end quick. It's happened before.

"Kay, so here's the deal. You tell him that you're going out on a date on Friday, and that if he wants to go out with the girl, he has to be okay with that." I really don't want to negotiate with my kid. That _screams_ bad parenting.

"Rach….I don't think-"

"No. You called me for my advice, and I'm giving it to you."

"But-"

"No 'buts'. Listen, you haven't been on a date in 16 years. A gorgeous man asked you out. Fucking do something for yourself once." I knew you were gonna say that, Rach.

"But Jim's grounded," I say.

"Girl, he hasn't talked to Viola in a longass time. Maybe this'll be good for him."

"What if he's lying?"

I imagine Rachel shaking her head on the other line. "I don't think he'd lie about this, chica. I remember those two hanging out together all the time. He likes her too much."

"But-"

"No 'buts', chica. That's my advice; take it or leave it." Jim _was _really happy today. Sweet and talkative. Maybe it _will_ be good for him.

"You're a bad influence on me, Rach."

I'm pretty sure she's grinning on the other line. "I know. Look, I'll be back in the city by Thursday. If you want, I can be a chaperon in the background. Covert and sneaky; they won't even see me. He gets out at 2:40 on Fridays, right? I'll just make sure he stays out of trouble."

"Yeah; 2:40 on Fridays." I smile. "Thanks, Rach."

"No problem. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to tear off my boyfriend's clothes."

"TMI."

"You know you love it. And don't forget the rules of a first date, aight sexy? Night, chica." Her voice comes out breathy and husky, and yup, it's_ definitely_ time to hang up.

"Night, Rach." She hangs up, and I check the clock on the wall. It's 9:20. I guess now's a good a time as ever. I head over to Jim's door and knock. The knob turns and he opens the door. Hades the Kitten is on his shoulder and it meows at me.

"Sup, Madre?"

"Let's talk." He grins.

"Kay." He follows me out the door and into the living room. We sit down on the couch and he holds the cat in his lap. "So?" He's grinning at me.

Smiling, I tell him, "You can go out on your date with Viola on Friday."

"Sweet!"

"Ah, ah, ah, ah – that's not all though."

"Huh? Whaddya mean?"

I brace myself, shut my eyes. "Jim, I'm going on a date this Friday at 6:30." I open my eyes, and he's looking at me and his eyes are bright and green and _hurt_. I've only seen that look a few times before. The last time was when his father left.

"What."

"Jim…"

He gets up, freaking out the little animal on his lap and I can see that there're tears starting to form at the corners of his eyes. "How could you?" he asks me. I was afraid this was going to happen.

I keep my voice calm, though. "Jim, baby, sit down. Let's talk about this." He's so overwhelmed that he actually listens to me.

The cat gets on his lap again, and Jim picks it up and puts it close to his face, accepting the fuzzball's affection.

"How could you, Mom?" He's not looking at me.

"Jim…" I reach out and touch his shoulder, and he doesn't flinch away from me, which is a good sign. "It's just one date, baby. I haven't been on a date in 16 years."

He looks at me and oh God he looks so _hurt, _my heart starts to _break_. He puts the cat down and then, out of nowhere, he hugs me, tightly; burying his head in my shoulder.

"I don't want anybody to hurt you," I hear him say, muffled and raspy. He's crying – he'll deny it later, but that's what he's doing.

"Shh, baby. No one's gonna hurt me, no one's gonna hurt me." No one's gonna hurt you either.

"Mom, I can't see you get hurt again." It's muffled, but I hear what he says. I hug him tighter.

"I won't, baby. It's just one date, okay? It's just one date." I rub his back a couple of times and then let go, and he leans back, wipes his eyes and sniffs a couple times.

"Who's…the guy?" he asks me, absentmindedly stroking Hades the Kitten's ears.

"Hank."

"Hank? Who's that?"

"The guy who picked you up from school yesterday, Jim." He gets this weird expression on his face, like "are-you-serious-that-guy-you're-going-out-with-_that_-guy?".

"What? What's wrong with him?" But then his expression changes, and his lips curl up into a soft smile.

"Nothin', Mom. He's kinda a surly bastard – sorry, I'll watch my language – but… he's alright. It's just one date, right?" Surly, huh? Hmm.

I laugh. "Yes, Jim. Just one. I don't think it'll get any farther than that."

"So I guess we both got dates, huh?" He grins at me.

"Fist bump." He bumps his good hand against mine and then gets up, stretching and picking up his cat. He starts to head towards his room, but I got one more thing I need to say.

"Jim."

He turns his head back toward me. "Yeah, Mom?"

"No sex." Or thinking about sex. No sex at all ever until you're 50 and married for 10 years, dammit.

"_Moooooooom! _" His ears turn bright pink and he runs into his room. He was completely mortified. Yeah, I'm grinning. 'As a parent, it's your job to embarrass your kids' – lesson from my dear old dad. I lay down on our old, ratty couch, and I feel pretty damn content.

And you know what? I'm actually really excited about this date.

* * *

A/N: Hope ya'll liked it. :P As always, leave your comments!


	16. Two Dates, and a (Nasty) Surprise

Chapter 16: Two Dates, and a (Nasty) Surprise

A/N: Hey guys. Long chapter here for ya'll (well, long for me, anyway). Unfortunately, because it's pretty long, it'll probably have lots of annoying typos. I apologize for that. I do my best to keep them out, but I always seem to miss a few, no matter how many times I read the chapter. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It's pretty stuffed with plot and fluff.

As always, leave your comments!

* * *

HADES

The days pass in a blur, and with each new dawn I am beginning to feel more comfortable in the city. Apollo seems to know it well, and he helps me buy a television and stereo. He even goes as far as to help me buy music and art for the brownstone – things I hadn't even considered.

"For the health of your soul, Uncle," he had said.

And, though I was at first very irritated when he offered some advice when it came to Cora – Persephone – when it came to Persephone…He was really quite helpful. I am loath to admit it, but courtship is not something I have ever been very good at. My brothers seem to taken the majority of that talent.

"Where do you plan on taking her?" he asked, helping me move the furniture into the house.

"Where do you suggest I take her? And if you say Hooters, I'll smite you where you stand."

He laughed. "Of course not, Uncle. You never would take a lady _there_, but I do know a vast majority of places where you _would_ take a lady." He had smiled at me, and…it was kind, and I believe genuine. I trusted him.

"Tell me."

And he did. I ended up making reservations at a restaurant called Al Di La Trattoria. He said it was Italian, and in Park Slope as well. Close. I have been dining in restaurants so much lately that I've hardly had any ambrosia, and my leg has been giving me more trouble than it usually does as a result. The final thing he told me before he left was, "Dress to impress, Uncle. I wish you good luck," and he threw me a bundle of clothes that I later found to be a white button-down, a black blazer and slacks. Stylish, I believe, though I've never been good with those sorts of things, either. That was this morning, and I have been pacing around the brownstone since, despite my throbbing thigh. As I walk throughout the house – my house, I suppose – and see the furniture and the art on the walls and everything in it, I realize that spending a year here may not be so bad after all.

Still, Apollo's reasons for being in the city trouble me, if only slightly. The Olympians have been falling ill – poison, he had said. Most occurrences have been happening in the mortal world. Zeus sent him to investigate, and he followed the evidence to the city, where Dionysus had been shot at a mortal dance club and been found delirious wandering in the streets by Ares, who was sent to look for him after Hermes had fallen ill. Shortly after that, Ares had disappeared.

So did Aphrodite, who now only answers to her Roman name.

"Can you not see who is responsible in prophecy?" I asked. In my bones, I know she has something to do with all of this, even as her lustful influence on me fades. I have not seen Morpheus, but I did receive a letter from him, which I have yet to open. I would rather speak with him, but Morpheus is a king in his own right. The king of dreams, but a king nonetheless, and I will not trouble him. His letter about Cora's (_Persephone's_ son. Persephone's son. She is Persephone, and _he_ is _her _boy.) son's dreams can wait, and… Aphrodite's spell, though still irritating, is fading and no longer troubles me. Not as much, anyway.

No, the thing that troubles me now – the thing that has troubled me the most – was him saying that his visions were blocked.

He smiled at me then, bright and gleaming. "Uncertainty makes life interesting, doesn't it, Uncle?"

Interesting? No Apollo, I do not think so. Uncertainty plagues my mind.

Will she remember me?

Will she love me?

Will she even _accept_ me?

I was told long ago by the Three Sisters that I am the master of my destiny. I have no one to blame but myself for the things that have happened to me…for the things that have happened to her. I look at my watch. It is 5:45. As I adjust the collar of my white shirt and see my harsh reflection in the mirror – the face of my father – I grimace and mutter, "Uncertainty only makes things needlessly complicated."

JIM

School can't go by any faster. Each class I just sit there daydreaming about random shit. My cat, that crippled dude my mom is going out with tonight, and Viola.

Especially Viola. When she sat in front of me in English, I seriously wanted to touch her hair and…I dunno…twirl it, I guess. Dark brown and beautiful. Probably soft, too. Don't worry; I didn't do it.

I'm gonna play it smooth.

Watch me.

I got so distracted that in 4th period, my math teacher – Mrs. Patel – threw an eraser at me.

"What's so interesting inside that head of yours, Mr. Wells?" she asked me.

"I could tell you, but I'd probably get suspended." The kids laughed. Most of 'em, anyway. Some of 'em, Dave Cousins' friends on the varsity team – Carl and Raj – they both glared at me with this weird look in their eyes. Aggressive. I know that look – seen it on guys in juvie, seen it on the streets. These guys, they wanted to hurt me.

Her mouth pressed into a straight line, but I could tell she was tryin' to keep from laughing. "Get to work, Mr. Wells," she said.

"Aight, Mrs. P." I looked back at Raj and Carl, and you know what the weirdest thing about them was? It looked like they got matching contact lens, cuz I swear that Carl's got gray eyes and Raj has dark brown eyes. When they were lookin' at me, their eyes were gold. Both of 'em. They looked down at their papers for a sec, then looked back up, and their eyes were back to gray and brown again.

Hell, maybe I still have a concussion, I dunno. I must, because I'm seeing things.

Anyway, that was earlier, and now I'm here outside on the football field, waiting for Viola. And then, I get this idea. I crouch down onto the field, and put my backpack in front of me on the ground, so no one can see what I'm doing. There isn't anyone else here but me right now, but hey – you can never be too fucking careful, right?

I close my eyes, concentrating hard on the image of a flower. I pick a rose, 'coz I know that you can't go wrong with a rose; and then I pick purple, 'coz I know that's her favorite color. It'll smell really good too. I press the palm of my hand down on the slightly damp earth of the football field. It ain't a bush, but it'll work. It always does. I start to sweat – don't fucking look at me like that – I haven't done this in a long time, alright? You try making a flower magically appear out of the ground – it ain't easy.

I start to feel a tingling sensation in my palm, and when I open my eyes, I see a purple rose sticking up from the ground near my fingertips. It doesn't have any thorns, either. Awesome.

I feel a light tap on my shoulder, and spin around to see Viola smiling down at me.

"What've you got there, sailor?"

"A gift from Ferdinand to Miranda," I tell her, grabbing the flower and handing it to her. Her eyebrows go up, her eyes get all huge and goddammit why are you so damn cute, Vy?

"Jim, how did you – I don't even…"

I smile at her. It's cool that she can get all confused and nervous like me. "You like it, yeah?"

And then she throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around me and giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. "I love it," she says, still hugging me. "Thank you, sailor."

"No prob, Vy." She lets go of me, and damn, that was too soon. She puts the flower in her hair, and she looks so pretty, smiling at me.

"So, you ready to take me out?" Hell yeah.

"Let's go." She takes my hand and my heart feels like it's about to burst through my chest.

"Race you," she says, all challenging and cool and totally Viola.

I know I gotta be grinnin' like some damn fool. "You're on." We take off running towards the theater that's a few blocks from the school. She beats me. Shut up.

I _let_ her win, alright?

"I win," she says. The flower is still in her hair, some-fucking-how.

"Nah, I just let you win." She punches my shoulder and I laugh. Goddamn, girl, I've missed you.

"We gonna watch _Looper_?"

"Yeah. Follow me." I offer my hand, and she takes it. We sneak past the guy who's supposed to rip our tickets, run up the stairs and head into the next showing of _Looper_. The whole time, I can see my mom's best friend, Rachel, tailing us. I call her Aunt Rachel. She thinks she's so sneaky. Looks like she's got her boyfriend with her too. It's kinda funny, 'coz she's tryin' to hide behind a big movie display, and she's got a bandana on her head and she's wearing sunglasses, but I can totally tell it's her. And Bobby's just standin' there, looking bored, not tryin' to hide at all.

I guess I'm laughing, 'coz Vy asks me, "What's so funny, sailor?"

"Nothin', c'mon," I say, and we sit down near the middle, on the seats with the bars in front of them so you can put your feet up. And the best part? We got the whole fuckin' theater to ourselves. Well, besides my Aunt Rachel and Bobby, we have the whole theater to ourselves.

"I think he noticed us, babe," I hear Bobby say as they walk into the theater.

"Shut _up_, Bobby. I'm trying to be clandestine here."

Bobby laughs. "You're yelling. He probably heard you." They walk into the theater, and Bobby waves at me. Aunt Rachel keeps trying to be sneaky and I'm fucking laughing so damn hard.

"Is that…Rachel?" Viola asks me, whispering into my ear, and she's startin' to giggle.

"Yeah."

"I think they're here to spy on us, sailor."

"Yup."

"They're pretty bad at it." We're still holding hands, and she squeezes mine a little.

Aunt Rachel and Bobby sit in the very back row of the theater. "Definitely." The trailers start to play, and I forget that Rachel and Bobby are there. And when the movie starts - gritty and dark and violent - the world shrinks to where it's just me and Viola. My hand holding hers. Her hand holding mine. Her head turning into my shoulder when somethin' gruesome comes up. Me giving her hand a light squeeze in return. We're friends, together again. We're somethin' more now, too.

When we get outta the theater, it's 5:45, and Aunt Rachel and Bobby follow us out. Vy's still got that flower in her hair, and her hand feels soft and warm in mine.

It's a good feelin', y'know?

"You guys here to chaperon us?" I ask, looking at Rachel. She's got her sunglasses back on, still tryin' to be sneaky and hidin' in back of Bobby.

"I'm not here," I hear her whisper to Bobby, and he just gives me a look like "you-know-how-she-is", and smiles at me.

Vy laughs and I do too. "Aunt Rachel, I can see you hiding behind Bobby." She throws up here hands, walking out from behind him.

"Alright, alright, I can tell I've been compromised." She takes off her sunglasses and waggles her eyebrows. "How you kids doin'? You guys hungry?" I'm hungry as fuck, but I turn to look at Viola, 'coz I'm sure her parents will probably want her home soon.

"You hungry?" I ask her. She nods. "Yeah, let me call my folks, though. Hang on." She pulls out her phone – looks like an old iPhone – and dials.

"Dad? Yeah, hey. I'm hanging out with some friends. I probably won't be back 'til –" she looks at Rachel, and Rachel says, all sneaky and covert-like, "11:30." At first I'm like, that's cool – I get to spend a lot of time with Vy, but then…that means…my mom is also gonna spend a lot of time with the cripple who sent me to the hospital. The guy who paid my bills. The guy who-

Who saved my ass from being beaten to shit by Dave.

I think about all this, and I'm not sure how it makes me feel – happy or anxious. Probably both.

Another thing it means is that my mom doesn't trust me to be by myself.

I don't blame her though. I don't blame her for anything.

"11:30 tonight," Viola tells her dad. She talks some more, and most of her words are "ums" and "yeahs" and "okays" and then she stops, hangs up.

"What'd your pop say?" Rachel asks her.

"He's cool with it. I just gotta update him every hour with a text or something." She grins at me, squeezes my hand. "I get to hang out with you more, sailor." Oh, fuck yes. I know that Aunt Rachel and Bobby are grinning at us, and I sort of feel embarrassed, but she's smiling at me, all dimples and awesomness and totally, completely Viola, that I don't really care.

Kinda. My cheeks feel a little warm still. Shut up.

"Where do you guys wanna go?" Rachel asks.

Viola answers for me, 'coz she gets this look in her eyes – and she knows where we gotta go. "Rocco's Pizza."

CORA

My heart's been beating crazy for the past hour. Actually, maybe it's been beating crazy for the past _day_.

I'm going on a date tonight. The first date since…

No, I won't go there. Not tonight. Hank had texted me on Wednesday, giving me the name of the restaurant. Al Di La Trattoria. Park Slope's new(ish) Italian sensation. Expensive. Fancy. Going through my old clothes in the closet, I list off the rules of a first date that Rach and me made back when we were still in high school:

Number one – and this is all in Rach's voice – be confident. Confidence is sexy. It's weird, because I haven't really cared about looking sexy for anyone in a long time, but tonight…I think I might as well try.

Number two –don't dress like a hoochie mama. I pull out a nice, muted gold dress that Rachel bought me for my birthday last year. Not super short, not super long. Just right. No one's gonna look like a hoochie mama tonight.

Number three – don't let him drive you there. Ha, looks like I already broke that one. But Rachel knows where I'll be going, and I've already been in his car. I'll still bring my pepper spray, though.

Rule number four – don't talk about The Ex. I definitely won't be making _that_ mistake tonight.

And finally, rule number five – don't kiss on the first date. Or now that we're older, don't have sex on the first date. And yeah, there's no way anything is getting that far, ever. Ever.

I slip on my dress, all pressed and nice – I'm glad I kept it in its dry-cleaning bag – and look in the mirror, do my hair; slip on my heels and jewelry and get my purse. I feel…pretty. Beautfiul. For the first time in a long time...and it's kind of nice. There's a buzzing sound coming from my door, and I know he's here. I check my phone, turn it on vibrate. It's 6:30 exactly, and I see a text from Rachel. She's taking Jim and Viola out for pizza with Bobby. Good. They'll be supervised. I pet Hades the Kitten as I leave my room. He meows at me and rubs my leg.

"Be good while I'm gone, little fella," I tell him. "Or else Jim'll have to pick up your mess."

Walking towards the door, my heart starts to speed up a little bit, but if it's anticipation or nervousness I can't tell. I open the door, and he's standing there, smiling lightly at me with just the faintest curl of his lips. And my heart starts to speed up even more, because…he looks really handsome, dammit!

His black hair is still messy,(and he's still got stubble – and it looks a little longer now, too, but neatly trimmed) but _some_ way he makes it work. Don't ask me how he manages to make the "just-rolled-out-of-bed-look" sexy, but he does it. And honestly, I never really noticed...just how _handsome_ he was before. He's got this white button-down shirt on too, open just a little below his collar bone, complete with a blazer and slacks, and wow. Just. Wow. Rachel was right when she called him, "Rugged Amazingness," because even with the scar, there's something about him that's _grand_.

He's leaning on his cane, still smiling at me, and he holds his arm out. "Your chariot awaits, my lady." And I laugh, because what he says is so dorky and silly, but at the same time... I _like_ it.

I take his arm, and through the layers of his blazer and shirt, I can feel the strength of the muscle there. This close, I can smell him, too, but he's not doused in cologne or anything. It's… Earthy; I think that's how I'd describe it. Masculine. Strong. "Thank you, my lord," I say, and from the corner of my eye, I can see his grin get wider.

He opens the car door for me, and I notice a few of my neighbors who've gone outside are staring at us. They probably think I'm a big-time drug dealer now, because of the car. Hell, maybe Hank _is_ a drug-dealer. A kingpin. I mean, it's a possibility, right? He's even got a pimp-cane.

Ha, yeah sure. If Hank's a drug-dealer, then I'm secretly a long-lost princess.

He gets in, gives me a shy glance, and starts up the engine. "I hope you like Italian," he says.

I smile at him. "I love Italian."

HADES

We drive in silence towards the restaurant. She is relaxed against her seat. The odd thing is, so am I.

We reach the restaurant, and I give my keys to the valet. "Aren't you ever worried about someone trying to steal it?" she asks me, taking my arm.

I shake my head. "It has a very good security system."

A server at the front leads us to our table after I tell her my name. "Right this way, Mr. Underwood." The name makes me cringe, but Hecate thought it was a bit of a play on words. She had called it "cute". Apollo has pestered me about the choice in last name all week long.

We sit down at our table, me across from her, and Cora looks around, wide-eyed and curious.

"This place is amazing, Hank," she says.

I feel relief flow through me at her words. Apollo, thank you. "I'm glad you like it." A server brings us our menus and we order.

She is so beautiful, sitting there in her gold dress, taking everything in. Green eyes, full of life and energy, searching and searching and looking intently at me. I think I see a flash of recognition, but it may just be a trick of the low light. There is soft music playing in the background, and my mind wanders back to when I first heard her sing. She has a wonderful voice, and I find myself thinking…that I would definitely like to hear her sing again. She continues to look at me, making my ears fill with the sound of my beating heart. I look down at my hands and swallow loudly. It is too much.

I hear her laugh softly, and I look up, just a bit.

"Is someone nervous?" she asks me, playfully.

"That question makes me nervous."

CORA

The server brings us our food, and Hank straightens up a little. He's actually a pretty shy guy – at least when it comes to dates, I guess. It's kind of cute.

Getting into his food – it's an alfredo dish, I think – he says, "You look very beautiful tonight." He gives me a small smile – so small I can barely see it, but I can tell because it reaches his eyes. I feel myself blush. "Thank you, Hank. You're looking very handsome yourself."

And maybe I haven't actually seen him before, or met him before, but damn – I know those eyes. There'd be no way I could forget them.

The waiter brings out my small marinara pizza, and I'm almost afraid to start eating it because it's so…pretty. It's small, about the size of a plate, and the crust is thin. The pizza is covered in red marinara sauce, and there are big clumps of white mozzarella cheese that look a little bit like Hershey's Kisses dolloped all around it. It's a work of art.

"It's not going to bite you," Hank says, and his tone is kinda mocking, but sweet, too.

I grin at him. "Well, I _was_ going to tear into it like a hungry wolf, but I figured that'd be unladylike." I take a slice from my pizza and bite into it, and my mouth is hit with the greatest taste in the history of pizza. I'm pretty sure Rachel would say I'm having a "foodgasm" and I'd be okay with that because I _am_. For the love of God, I almost moan! "Although, tasting this awesome pizza," I say after I swallow my first bite, "I may just tear into it anyway." I hear him chuckle, and wow – he has a really nice laugh. I laugh with him, and it feels nice.

HADES

We eat in silence after our laugh, and though the silence is comfortable and relaxed, a part of me feels disappointed. I wish I was better at talking, of knowing the right thing to say. Apollo would know.

Apollo is not here.

"So, what's your story, Hank?" she asks me, taking a sip from her glass. It is tea.

I swallow my food, take a napkin, wipe the corners of my mouth. "What do you want to know?"

Her eyes look up in contemplation for a few seconds. Then, she says, "Hmm, let's start off easy. You have any brothers and sisters?"

Ah. My dear, my family is not an easy topic for me to discuss. Still, I suppose that I could perhaps have a little bit of fun at their expense. "Yes. Two brothers and three sisters. It was very cramped, growing up. "

She whistles. "Lotta kids. You all get along?"

I smile. "We try."

CORA

His smiles are really nice. Each time he does it, it looks special, like it's something that he never really does. Like he's doing it just for me.

Woah, I gotta slow down there.

Don't get distracted by the sexy. Learn more about the sexy.

-Rachel Yanez™

His cane is lying against the table, and I have this sudden weirdo impulse to grab it. So I do. His expression is just priceless.

"Did you – did you just take my cane?"

"Yup." He sits back in his seat, running a hand through his hair and laughing. He sits up suddenly, tries to reach across the table and grab it from me, but I keep it from him. He makes me giggle.

He sits back again, with this pleased and breathless look on his face. It's pretty adorable. "Well that's no good, abusing a cripple like me. I thought you were a nice woman, Cora," he smirks, playfully.

"I am totally nice." I grin at him. "Well, maybe not totally."

"I knew it."

HADES

All want to do is hold her in my arms, and kiss her and kiss her and kiss her. Kiss her thousands of times to know that she's there, right in front of me, alive and breathing and smiling at me and trusting me. I do not. I know I cannot.

It's all I want to do.

"Since you've stolen my cane, I think it's my turn to ask you questions." She's inspecting the handle and the shallow carvings in the wood. I have no doubt that she feels something; feels its power.

She looks at me then, surprise in her eyes, like she'd just woken up from a dream. Then she grins at me.

"So, is this a phallic symbol?" she asks, jokingly.

"Quit inspecting my wood." However dirty, I enjoy this banter.

"You over-compensating for something, Hank?" There's my girl.

I put my hand on my chest. "You wound me, my lady."

She giggles. I grin.

The server refills my glass, and I take another bite of my food.

CORA

I like this. I'm not sure what's wrong with me, but I' actually enjoying this. I mean, we're teasing each other, and it just feels so easy. He takes a sip from his wine, and while he does it, I wonder about what it would be like to put my hands on those stubbled cheeks. How it would feel like to kiss –

No. No, that's too fast, Cora. Even if you like him.

Crap.

I like him.

I trace the carvings of the cane, and for some reason, I feel like there's power there. It makes my fingers numb, and I look at him, and it's just... damn. When did I get these rose-tinted glasses?

"How is Jim?" he asks me, looking at me like he recognizes something, too. He looks amused. It's completely dorky. And there's just something about his dorkiness that makes me smile.

"He's doing great, actually. Going out with a pretty girl tonight."

"Copying me?"

I blush. "Oh, you silver-tongued devil, you."

He shrugs, nonchalantly, taking a sip from his wine. "I try, my lady. Besides," those blue eyes look right at me, "it's true."

Goddamn, this guy has me all flustered and blushing and laughing. I haven't had a good time like this for…for a long, long, long time. "You, sir, are too much." His lips curl up to one side, and it's a mischievous smirk.

"Anyways, he's doing good. I got him a cat from the shelter, for his birthday." You saved him on his birthday, Hank. Thank you. So much. "You like cats?"

He shakes his head. "I prefer dogs."

I smile at him. "I do too."

"What'd he name the animal?" He's taking another sip from his wine.

"Hades." And now he's sputtering the wine up and coughing and, damn, is he alright?

"What'd," he coughs, coking on the wine, "what'd you say?"

"The cat. Its name is Hades. Yeah, I thought it was weird, too….Hank, are you alright?" He's still coughing, but now it's even worse that I told him the cat's name. Surprisingly, he doesn't get any wine on his shirt. Lucky guy. After about a minute, he manages to get himself back together.

"You okay?" I ask him.

He wipes his mouth and nods his head, vigorously. I think he's blushing. "I apologize for that."

"Hey, it's fine. When Jim named the fuzzball that, I felt kinda weird about it too. I call him Hades the Kitten….Hank, are you sure you're alright?" Seriously, he sort of looks angry now. He's got this expression on his face, like, "are-you-fucking-kidding-me?" And, yeah, I put the 'fucking' part in there on purpose. That's what it looks like.

HADES

Jim must have a subconscious desire for me to kill him, because every single thing he has done since I have met him has irritated me to levels I had never even thought possible. Hades the _Cat_? _Hades the Kitten_?! This is horrible. He could have at least named the animal after my father. At least _I_ wouldn't have to bear the embarrassment of having a baby_ cat_ named after me. At first when she said my name, in that first second, I thought she remembered _me_. That she knew me.

But no.

She was telling me the name of her son's furry sidekick. Fantastic.

I freeze when I feel her hand on my face.

"What're you doing?" I ask, breathless. She's so close. So, so close. I can feel her breath on my face, and I feel myself shudder slightly. It may be Aphrodite's spell.

Or more likely, it is Persephone's own spell.

"You're a messy eater." She looks up at me, playfulness written in her eyes. "You got some sauce on your chin. I'm cleaning it up for you because it was bothering me."

"How kind of you," I tease. Her thumb lightly brushes against my chin, and my eyes shut. She's still close, I can feel her there, and she seems to realize our closeness now, too, because she quickly sits back in her seat.

"So," she says, leaning slightly forward.

"So?"

CORA

"Let's learn more about each other," I tell him, and he smiles at me.

"Alright. You first," he says.

And you know what? Even though I barely know this guy…Even though I've known him for only a week, I feel like I can trust him. So I break rule number four – never talk about The Ex. I know, I know – it's stupid, it'll send him running for the hills. I know. And I know I shouldn't feel so trusting with this guy. So I don't tell him everything. But I do tell him lots of things: about Leland, about my dad – how awesome he was, how much I miss him. How I never even met my mom…How she just left us, me and my pop, when I was just a baby. Softball in high school, Rachel. Jim. Jim and his problems. About how I named Jim after my dad, the greatest man in my life. Probably more than what a person should tell another person on their first date. But he's there, leaning forward, looking at me intently, listening to me, commenting here and there, and you know what?

It's really, really nice.

Because he cares. And I know – how can I possibly tell, right? I don't know how I know, but I just know. I _know_ that he does.

And we joke around, too. He tells me that he inherited a 3rd of his father's company; the other 2/3s went to his other brothers, Paul and Zachary. His sisters went off to do their own things. He was born and raised in Greece, too. That's why he's got a little bit of an accent. And he's just here in the city, new and lost in it; he went wandering around the most ghetto part of Bed Stuy because he was _bored_. Where he found my son and saved him.

The whole time we talk, we learn…a lot about each other. I catch his shy glances at me, his sweet smiles, and it's easy, being like this. Talking to him. He makes it easy.

So easy, that the hours pass, and when he asks for the check, our hands brush, just for a quick second.

And yeah, I want it to last longer.

The valet brings out his car from the parking lot, and Hank leads me by the arm to his car, and we get in. I get a text from Rachel that her and Jim are headed back home; she'll drop Jim off first and then drop Viola off, since she lives closer to her house than we do. She says that the kids were great, and it makes me smile.

We both had great nights, Jim and me.

"Radio?" he asks me.

I smile. "Yeah, sure."

He turns it on, and then _Sideways_ comes on, by Citizen Cope.

_ You know it isn't easy/For these thoughts here to leave me/There are no words to describe it/In french or English/Cause diamonds they fade/And flowers they bloom/And I'm telling you_

_ That these feelings won't go away/They've been knockin me sideways_

We drive and we drive, and then I ask him a question that's been bugging me. A question that I forgot to ask when the conversation was flowing and free. It'll be awkward. Completely awkward.

I ask it anyway, and the song plays.

"You ever been married, Hank?"

He doesn't answer for the longest time, and it worries me. Have I upset him? Then his voice comes out, his words slow and meticulous, full of some undercurrent of emotion that I can't place.

I think…I think it's anguish.

"Yes, I was. She…died…a long time ago." Oh, _Hank_. I see him clench his jaw, see his hand grip the gear shift tightly. His Yankees cap is on the dashboard, facing us. I want to…kiss him. I really do. But I'm not ready.

And maybe he's not, either.

So instead, the song plays, and I –

I put my hand on his hand; on the hand holding the gear shift. He doesn't look at me; just swallows hard.

So maybe I can't kiss him. Not right now. But I can give him this.

I think maybe – maybe we both need it.

The song plays.

_That these feelings won't go away/They've been knockin me sideways_

Yeah, these feelings are definitely knocking me sideways.

We keep driving, my hand on his. It's 11:30.

As we get closer to my apartment complex, I see groups of five or ten fire trucks heading all in the same direction. What the hell? And then I remember.

The fires. Oh God. Oh God, please no. No, no, no, no.

And then we get there, and the entire complex is on fire.

I see Rachel and Bobby and Viola, and I run out of the car, and I know distantly that Hank is limping after me.

Jim, where are you?

"Jim!" I scream. "_Jim!_"

And then, I see him, walking towards me, covered in soot and ash, holding Hades, who doesn't look like he's gone through a fire at all. Jim's wearing a blanket.

Son, what the_ fuck_ did you do?

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and from the heaviness, I know it's Hank. A firefighter points at me, bringing Jim forward. "This your mom, kid?" he asks Jim, and Jim just coughs, nodding at me.

"Yeah, that's my mom. That's her date."

The firefighter comes right up to me, and I feel Hank's hand leave my shoulder. He's standing beside me.

"Your boy's a hero, ma'am. Saved a whole family. People probably would've been completely trapped by the time we got here."

I'm stunned. Jim? A hero? My Jim?

"Thank – thank you, sir." Oh my God, Jim ran into a burning building. Oh my God. I'm shaking, and I feel Jim come up to me, hug me tightly.

"I'm sorry, Mom."

"Jim, you are _so_ fucking grounded." It's all I can think to say. My son just risked his life. Just saved a family. By running into a fucking _burning building_.

"I'm here, Mom. I'm okay." He hugs me tighter. "I'll tell you everything."

I'm feeling woozy and lightheaded. My vision's getting blurry.

"I'm going to faint," I say, and I start to fall backwards, out from Jim's hold, and the world is going out from underneath me. In slow-motion, I see the firefighter and Jim try to catch me. Somehow, I also notice Rachel and Bobby and Viola running towards me. I feel the heat of the fire; of my home burning to ashes on my skin; hear the yells of the firefighters and smell soot on my son. It's too much, and my mind has made the decision to pass out.

The last thing I remember is falling backward into a hard chest, strong arms keeping me steady, and I know he's there.

Hank.

* * *

A/N: So, what exactly did Jim do while Hades and Cora were at the restaurant? What'd he do in that fire, hmmm? Well, read the next chapter to find out. ;D


	17. Fires and Reveals

TYPOS, I HATE YOU. :(

Chapter 17: Fires and Reveals

JIM

Being with Viola was great. We ordered a pizza and a milkshake and shared 'em both. Strawberry milkshake. Greatest flavor ever; better than chocolate. Yeah, I fucking said that – better than chocolate.

Better than chocolate 'coz she was drinking it with me. Made it the greatest thing ever. Anyway, we sat together, and Aunt Rachel and Bobby sat in another booth, and the brick walls and old family pictures on the walls and maps of Sicily made the place feel warm.

The smoky smell reminded me of my dad.

It hurt. Shut up.

"Ain't your pop gonna be…I dunno…Upset with you for goin' out with me?" She was next to me, her head was on my shoulder, and I saw Rachel wink at us.

"My dad's too busy to know or care, sailor. As long as I keep my grades up, he won't suspect a thing."

"Your mom?"

She laughed a little, then. "Same thing. She's too busy with my baby sister." She kissed my shoulder and I could feel her smile against me.

"I really like this jacket, sailor. Makes you look cool." That made me blush somethin' fierce. Stop looking at me like that! Like always, I tried to play it smooth.

"Thanks, Vy," I said, grinning all crazy-like. Okay, you know I'm not smooth, lay off it already. "It's my grandpa Jim's." My mom gave to me when we moved to our apartment. It was too big for me when I started wearing it. Now it's just right.

"You always look cool, Jim." She said it, laughing in that totally-awsome Viola laugh.

"But you always look cooler," I whispered, 'coz her words made me feel light-headed, and I couldn't speak any louder. I said shut up, dammit!

"Haha, that's true. Glad you know that, sailor." She nudged my thigh with hers, and I nudged back, and we started laughing really loud. A couple people looked at us, told us, "shh". We sorta listened. Sorta kinda.

She pinched my ear, and that fucking hurt so I spun my head towards her. I was gonna stick my tongue out at her, pinch her back, do something. But she fuckin' stopped me.

Stopped me, 'coz when I turned, she kissed me. Kissed me, and the world stopped. Somewhere in the back, I could hear Aunt Rachel shouting "woo-hoo" or some shit, but like I said, my brain sorta stopped working. Viola was kissing me.

Viola Guerrero. The girl I've had a crush on since forever. The girl I used to read to. The girl who asked her parents to get me a purple dragon when we were three. Fuck it – the girl who got me a purple dragon when we were three. My best friend.

I'm not sure how long it lasted. Could have been seconds, could have been fucking years, I dunno. All I know is that it was fuckin' perfect. Her smell, her lips, soft and girly and goddamn - I could have stayed like that forever.

Then she pulled away, smiled at me, kissed my cheek. I probably looked like a major dumbass.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that, sailor." Holy shit.

"I think you just made my brain explode, Vy." Remember when I told you that dumbass shit just sort of falls out of my mouth sometimes? Yeah, this was one of those moments.

I can't really tell you what happened the rest of the time we were at Rocco's, 'coz her just being there made me too foggy and happy. I can tell you that any high I've ever had from the drugs Alex gave me to try – they were never as good as this. Just talking and joshing, and yeah –

The occasional kiss for no reason from her, too, when I said somethin' dumb or silly. On my nose or cheek.

A couple more pecks, too. Do you think she'd catch on if I started to say dumb shit on purpose?

We spent lots of time there, just talking, and eventually we went to the arcade for a couple of hours. We were pretty evenly matched. That's just 'coz I was going easy on her, alright?

Then, it was 11:00, and Rachel was like, "Time's up kiddos." So we left in Bobby's truck, one of those big nice ones with a backseat. We held hands, and Viola put her head on my shoulder, fell asleep. In the review mirror, I could see Aunt Rachel waggle her eyebrows at me and wink.

We drove and drove, and things were going great until –

Until I saw the orange light of a huge fucking fire, could see the smoke of my burning apartment complex rising up into the night sky. Bobby parked, Rachel dialed 911, and Viola started to wake up, freaking out when she saw the fire.

In the light of the blaze, I could see two shadowed figures, and then one of them looked in our direction. And man, my stomach fucking dropped, 'coz when they looked at us, I could see two pairs of gold eyes, bright and glowing.

And then the two figures ran into the firelight a bit, and I could see a head with curly brown hair and a head of jet-black hair.

Carl Gagliardi and Raj Adani.

And I knew these fuckers -

These fuckers started the fire.

From there, I got out of the car, started running after them. I could hear Bobby and Rachel and Vy screaming at me, yelling at me to come back. But I didn't, because how the fuck could I?

These assholes – they just set an entire apartment complex on fire. With hundreds of people. Kids and moms and _good_ dads.

I had to fucking catch these guys. So I ran after them, my rage carrying me forward, the heat from the fire burning into my skin. I wasn't that close, but even from 50 feet away, I could feel it. I managed to catch up to Carl, following him through the alleyway leading to the next apartment complex. Raj escaped, and I felt like such a fucking idiot.

I tackled Carl, and for a few moments, he put up a good fight, throwing punches up at me. He threw a pretty hard one; kinda startled me, 'coz I thought he broke my fucking nose.

It was cool, though, 'coz even if he did, I've had plenty of broken noses before. My nose is kinda crooked because of that.

I hit him with my left hand, hard. Really, really fucking hard. I'm not a southpaw, but you gotta be able to fight with both, y'know? And hitting him with my right was not a fucking option, being broken to shit and all.

His head lolled back, and I grabbed him by the shirt collar, lifted him up to my face.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing, asshole?!" I screamed into his face. He just stared at me with those weird, gold, glowing eyes, and blood was pouring down out of his mouth from where I split his lip and punched his teeth out. It freaked me out. Normally guys don't laugh after I deck them.

"What's so funny, fuckface?" I smashed the back of his head against the concrete, and he just kept laughing; coughing and laughing. Coughing up blood, and some of it got on my face.

Then he started to talk, and his voice…His voice really freaked me out. Carl's got a normal voice, k? Not high-pitched, not super-deep either. When he _does_ answer questions in class, he just sounds like normal dude. _This_ voice, though.

"_Puny mortal. You have no idea of the forces at work here._" He kept laughing, and I punched him again.

Man, it was fucking _evil_. Scratchy and deep, and it sounded like there were a hundred voices at once speaking the same words. I was freaked out, but I wasn't gonna let this asshole know that.

"What forces at work, asshole?"

He spit in my face. It was fucking disgusting.

"_While Polydectes travels the surface, the earth shifts and War becomes more savage, and Death struggles to piece together the connections. The world is changing, demigod. There is need for a new world order_." Okay, by this point I was totally, completely fucking lost.

I grabbed his shirt collar tighter. "Can you repeat that in English, asshole?"

He laughed again, and holy shit it was annoying. "**_Stupid _**_demigod. Your mother and Polydectes will prove no challenge. Neither will the others, just as Our Lady said you would not._ _You will all die – all of you, and there is nothing you can do to stop us. The old gods will perish and the new gods will rule. And the Creator will bend at his knees, just like the rest of you, before we destroy you all_. _Your father made it so __**easy**__, demigod_." What the fuck? What in the actual fucking_ fuck_? My head was spinning. I couldn't see. I had a million questions.

"My father? What the fuck do you know about my father, fucker?" He chuckled, wheezy and sick-sounding, choking on his black-looking blood.

"_So easy to lure you. Our Lady would thank the grain goddess, but she will be destroyed with the rest of you. And Polydectes stays here, oblivious in his foolish quest_."

"Quit talking in fucking riddles!" I smashed the back of his head against the concrete again. "Who the fuck is Polydectes?!"

"_Foolish, **stupid** demigod. He is the master of Death. He has made himself obvious here, searching for his queen, thinking that when he reveals himself, the revelation will be easier to understand. Getting close to her. Close to you. It is no matter, because he was not fast enough, and there will be __**nothing **__**you**__ can do to stop us, demigod. Even with your mixed godly blood_." My what? What the _fuck_ is happening?

"Who the fuck are you?" I asked. "_What_ the fuck are you?" And then, I heard the screams of kids from behind me; painful, awful screaming, coming from my burning apartment complex, and I looked back, saw them yelling for help in the windows. "_Somebody help us_!" they were screaming. "_We don't wanna die_!"

"_Better run, demigod_," the thing-that-was-not-Carl said to me. "_Be a hero. We may not have succeeded in killing you or mother here, but that is minor set-back. You will not be able to save __**anyone**__ in the end. You will die, or you will kill them **yourself**._" And then his eyes rolled back, and he started coughing again. His eyes rolled forward again after a minute, and they were gray.

"Wells? What the _fuck_?" Carl said coughing, rubbing his jaw. "What the fuck did you do to me?!" He tried getting up, but with me straddled and heavy on his chest, he fell back, hard. "Oh my God, my _head_." Then his eyes got wide in surprise, looking behind me. "Is that fire?" Yeah, dipshit, it is.

I got off his chest, dragged him against the wall. Then I started running towards the apartment, 'coz damn it all-

I couldn't stand those screams.

I had to save those kids.

"Where the fuck you going, Wells?" I heard Carl moan from behind me.

"Call the cops, Carl. And if you see Raj, do the best you can to run."

"The hell?"

I ignored him, just kept running, trying to find a place that wasn't burning. I know this was a stupid idea, okay. I know I should have waited for the firefighters to get there. With how long it'd been burning, they were totally on their way. But –

I knew, deep down, fucking_ instinctively_ that they wouldn't get there in time to save those kids. And for some reason, I couldn't let that happen. I had to save them; run into a burning fucking building like a dumbass.

I kicked a door down, in a part of the building that wasn't totally on fire, and the heat and smoke made it feel like I was in hell.

I got low on the ground, tried to keep my head underneath the smoke, and I crawled towards the door. There wasn't any smoke coming from underneath it, so I put the back of my hand against it. It was coolish, so I reached my hand up, turned the knob. And whaddya know? When I opened it, Hades was there, meowing at me.

"The hell you doin' here, buddy?" I coughed out. He meowed at me, then took off running down the smoky hall.

"Hades, wait!" I crawled after him, followed him. This fucking cat _knew_ where he was going. He led me through the smoky hallways, though safe passage, past searing fire and falling roofs. We went upstairs, and I heard screaming. People, burning to death.

People burning to death that I couldn't save.

I kept going.

'Coz that's all you can do, in a situation like this, right?

Keep going.

We came to a door, and he meowed at it, looked at me. "These are kids you can save," his meow said. It wasn't English, but I could understand him. With all the weird shit happening with me, I just took it in stride.

"Whatever you say, Hades." I stood up, covered my mouth to keep from breathing in the smoke, kicked the door down. There were four kids; two boys and two girls. One boy looked like he was around nine, the other looked five. The two girls looked like they were twins – both eight, probably. They were all standing around their mom and dad, who were both passed out. The dad looked like he was around 50, the mom a little younger, maybe in her forties or thirties. She was laying on top of him; kinda looked like he fell while trying to carry her out.

"Hey guys," I said, crouching low. They all looked at me, scared. I was really fucking scared, too. Shut up.

"Are you gonna save us?" one of the sisters asked me. The smoke was right about her head-level, and she coughed.

I tried my best to smile, but the heat and smoke was making it hard. "Yeah. But I'm gonna need your guys' help."

The oldest boy looked at me. And I knew that look, too. Hard edged. I knew it, 'coz I have it. "What do you need us to do?"

So I told them, best as I could, fast as I could. The boy would carry his little brother on his back, fireman's style. The girls would be in the middle, making sure no one got lost.

And me, I had to carry both of the parents on my back. Don't get me wrong – I'm really strong, alright? But in a burning building, carrying around 300 pounds of weight or more? It was gonna be fucking hard. I put the dad over my right shoulder, the mom over my left, and my broken hand screamed at me the entire time I was lifting them. I gave the boy my jacket, to keep him and his little brother's back from getting burned. And all the fucking while, I kept thinking about what the thing-that-was-not-Carl said. But I couldn't lose focus, so I shook my head, brought myself to the present. I had to get these people out, and I was losing time.

The smoke was getting thicker, and the heat from the flames made me feel like I was being cooked alive. I guess I was.

"Lead the way, Hades." He meowed at me, and took us down another passage. I did my best to keep low, told the kids to do the same. Then Hades stopped, really fucking abruptly.

"What's wrong?" I asked Hades. "What's going on?" the boy asked in the back.

Then a door, about ten feet away, just fucking exploded. Like, it sounded like a fucking bomb had gone off. The flames flowed from the doorway, and the heat, man –

It was fucking _unbearable_.

We weren't on fire, but we might as well have been.

Hades meowed, and I swear to God, I thought he said, "Hurry!" He took off running down a right hallway, and I told the kids to keep up with me.

A roof beam fell in front of us, on fire, and the smoke was starting to make me feel light-headed. I was coughing like hell, and the ash and heat was making my eyes water.

This was it, I thought to myself. This was my punishment for everything I'd done. All the hurt I caused my mom. All the horrible shit I'd put her through.

Burning to death, unable to lead the kids out of the fire. Fucking up, just one last time. God has a sick sense of humor.

I started to fall on my knees, 'coz of the weight and smoke and the heat – so fucking hot, it was_ so _fucking hot – and the kids were coughing behind me. And I couldn't see Hades anymore.

But then, I felt him nudge his little head on my leg, meow. "You're almost there." He didn't say it. I'm wasn't sure who did, at first. Then I realized - it was the voice of the Underworld guy from my dreams. Of the cripple, and I'm pretty sure I started laughing hysterically, scorching my throat and lungs, 'coz why the fuck should I hear _his_ voice in a time like _this_? After all, he wasn't there – the cripple _or_ the Underworld guy. Hades, who I named my fucking gray cat for. My cat was there, though. Maybe that's why.

For some reason, the words gave me strength. There was no touch on my shoulder, no hug – just an imagined voice, in fire and flames and heat and death, and it gave me strength.

Besides, I couldn't die tonight. Not right after Viola just kissed me.

So I got up, and the coughing kids behind me, I knew they did, too. "We're almost there, guys," I said, repeating the words I heard in my head. I didn't recognize my own voice. It hurt to talk. It was deep and raspy and fucking ruined.

Hades meowed, and I fucking kicked that roof beam outta the way, and we kept going, going and going; burning, lungs filling with smoke and ash, everything being poisoned. And then Hades smashed his little body against a door, and I took the hint. With all the strength I had left, I kicked that door down, and we were outside.

We just kept running until we were away. Far fucking away from that hell. There was an audience, too, around us. Watching the fire and smoke and a staring at us all wide-eyed. Distantly, so fucking distantly, I was aware of the firefighters dousing the building with hundreds of gallons of high-pressured, life-saving water. There were shouts and loud noises and lights, and I could hear Viola and Rachel, fucking screaming at me from somewhere. There were people crying, so many people crying, but I just kept leading the kids. Just kept walking to one of the four fucking ambulances there. An EMT ran up to me, kept asking me questions. I didn't understand a single one. And after him, a firefighter ran up to me too, looked me right in the eyes.

"Did you just come from that fire?" What do you think, dipshit?

I didn't say anything, just nodded weakly. I really just wanted to sit down, have a nice cool drink of water. Hades nudged my leg. I was standing by myself by then; the EMTs somehow managed to take the parents off my shoulders, and the kids too.

"He saved us," one of the sisters said, pointing at me from one of the ambulances. Her voice sounded ruined, too – but she wasn't burned.

I smiled weakly at her. I could feel myself shaking. Even though I had just come from a place – hell on fucking earth – with fire and heat, I felt…

_Really_ fucking cold. I guess the firefighter knew, 'coz wordlessly, he placed a blanket on my shoulder, and walked me towards Viola and Rachel by another ambulance. I was assaulted with hugs by both of them. Bobby was out somewhere, helping the EMTs carry people, because fuck –

There were _so_ many burning people. After the EMT was done checking me out, reading my vitals, I could feel Viola hold my hand, distantly.

"That was a brave thing you did, kid," said the firefighter. He was old – looked like he may have been the head honcho of the firefighters there. "Stupid as all hell, but brave. Don't ever do it again, though. Leave it up to us. We're the firefighters – it's our job."

"I couldn't just let those kids die," I said. My ruined voice sounded really fucking monotone. It was scary. And even with the blanket, I was still cold.

"Jim, you're such a dumbass," Viola said next to me, squeezing my hand. Despite everything, it made me grin.

"Sorry, Vy."

The fire kept on raging, and I kept staring at it. The cops were there, and I could see Carl being handcuffed, his head being pushed into the back seat. No sign of Raj. Or a possessed Raj.

Even with Viola there, my mind kept drifting to what golden-eyed-Carl said. _He is the master of Death. He has made himself obvious here, searching for his queen. Getting close to her. Close to you. It is no matter, because he was not fast enough, and there will be __**nothing **__**you**__ can do to stop us, demigod. Even with your mixed godly blood_. What did it all mean? The master of Death? My dad? Demigod? I am a half-god? Then…does that mean my dad is a god? Does that mean my mom is a goddess? And, who is Polydectes? I had all these thoughts in my head, and Viola and Rachel went to go get me water, 'coz the ambulance I was at had run out. And then, I heard my mom's voice, screaming for me, and I looked for her, saw her running and running and searching and searching.

So I ran towards her, because I've never been so fucking happy to see my mom in my life. And it was then that I realized, I can't leave her. I can't get myself killed in a gang. I can't do that to her.

It would destroy her.

"This your mom?" the firefighter asked me.

I told him yeah, and he told her I was a hero; told her I saved a whole family. I ran up to her, hugged her tightly, just to show her that yeah, I was there. Alive and breathing. I heard her say I was grounded, and then she started to slip from my grasp, falling backwards, and I couldn't catch her.

But the cripple did. And he looked at her with something that I couldn't recognize, at first. But then I realized what it was – that was a look of a guy in love. I know, 'coz dammit all – I look at Viola the same fucking way. Looked at her like that since we were kids. But this look – it was intense, too. Passion and longing and just _emotion_ all rolled into one expression. And then he looked at me, and he was angry.

Angry at _me_ for doing this to her – angry at me for causing her all her pain. I couldn't blame him; I was angry at me too. It wasn't hate, though. I've seen hate before, and this wasn't it. And then his expression softened when he looked at me, just a little bit, and he carried her, bridal style, to the ambulance, limping even more 'coz he wasn't using his cane. He just left it, forgotten on the ground, its silver handle shining in the orange light of the flaming building. I looked at the handle, and it clicked. _While Polydectes travels the surface, the earth shifts and War becomes more savage, and Death struggles to piece together the connections. The world is changing, demigod. There is need for a new world order. _Then Carl's words – his possessed words – they assaulted my brain. _He is the master of Death. He has made himself obvious here, searching for his queen, thinking that when he reveals himself, the revelation will be easier to understand. Getting close to her. Close to you._ Polydectes. I've never taken a Greek language class in my life, but suddenly I could understand it –receiver of many. Master of Death. My dreams. The skull handle. _Getting close to her. Close to you._ His strength, the power I could feel brewing just beneath the surface whenever I was with him. I knew. I fucking_ knew_ who he was. I looked back up from his cane, saw his blue eyes peering at me from where he was sitting next to my mom in the ambulance. Rachel was there, too, holding my mom's hand, while the EMT was giving my mom smelling salts to wake her up. He wasn't touching her, but I could tell – could see it in his eyes that he _wanted_ to hold her. He was looking at me, nodding slowly, and I _knew_ that he _knew_, that I _knew_ who he_ was_. Knew _what_ he was.

Hades.

God of the Underworld.

_Holy._

_Fucking._

_Shit._

I could feel my jaw drop, and his lips curled up in a small smile, and he motioned for me to pick up his cane, so I did. And the power that was there – I could feel it shoot through my arm, giving me strength. It scared me, too. It was fucking overwhelming. I wanted to get rid of it.

And now, sitting with him, waiting for my mom to get up, I hand it to him. Rachel's gone out to take Viola home, 'coz it's way fucking past the time she was supposed to. I'm supposed to call her later. We'll see if my mom lets me after tonight.

I'm sitting across from him, and my mom is up, so I tell her what happened. Tell her almost everything. Not the bit about Raj and Carl, though. Hades – the guy, not my cat, who's sitting on my lap – listens the entire time, even when Rachel gets back. I send him a look. I hope it says, "We need to talk." He nods, and I know he understands. I don't tell them how Hades – the cat, not the guy – fucking talked – or meowed, whatever; the point is, I don't tell them how I understood what he said.

After all that, my mom is pretty shaken, but we're all there.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do, Rachel. All our stuff. My car is still at the shop. Oh God, where are we going to _live_?" Aunt Rachel hugs my mom, comforts her. I can see that Death Guy is uncomfortable. A god getting uncomfortable, huh?

"You can stay with us," Bobby says. "It's a one-room apartment, but we can manage." Uh, no, Bob. You and Rachel fuck like rabbits, and no offense, but I don't need any more mental scarring from you two.

My mom shakes her head. She's got tears in her eyes, 'coz she's fucking overwhelmed. I have that feeling too, down in my chest. With all the words I've heard tonight. With all the stuff that's happened. I'm right on the edge of collapsing.

"No," my mom says, shaking her head. "I can't do that to you guys. You need your space. Maybe I can rent a motel or something…Oh God, who am I kidding? I can't afford that. Oh God, oh God. Why is this _happening_?" She's crying, and Rachel is holding her. I see Death Guy clench his jaw – I'll call him that so you don't confuse him with my awesome cat – and yeah, he looks uncomfortable.

"Cora," he says, and she looks at him, and his voice is soft and…damn, it's _kind_. "You and your son can stay with me."

My mom shakes her head, lots and lots. "No, no, no, Hank. We don't know each other enough. I can't – I can't –"

"Cora," he repeats softly. "I'm trying to help."

"I know you are, Hank, but –"

"Mom, let's do it," I say, looking at Death Guy, and he looks up at me, surprised. Call me crazy, really fucking crazy – but I feel safe with Death Guy. He's saved my ass, too. Lots of times, even when he didn't have to. Even when he could have killed me. So yeah, I kinda trust the bastard. And with all this weirdass supernatural shit going on, I don't think it'd bad to have a fucking _god_ on your side, y'know? He'll protect my mom, and that's what I _know_. He'll fucking do it, 'coz he _loves_ her. He _may_ hate me – but I don't think he does, 'coz he was there, in my dream, and I fucking know it was _him_ now, and he kept me from _falling apart_ – but he loves my mom, and I fucking _know_ that. He smiles at me, just a little bit, and I know he doesn't _hate_ me then, either. And plus, I need to talk to him. There's shit that needs to get explained. Shit I need to know.

"Jim?" my mom asks, confused.

"Mom, this guy – Hank – Hank saved me, paid for my hospital bills. We need help. Let's take it."

And my mom is just fucking overwhelmed, y'know? Not seeing any other option. So she nods weakly, agrees.

"Alright. Alright, we'll do it," she says, and Bobby and Death Guy shake hands, and Rachel gives him a quick hug, and I have to keep myself from laughing, 'coz it looks like she startles him a little bit, doin' that. My mom smiles at Death Guy. "I hope you're okay with cats."

He nods stiffly, looks at my cat with contempt, and I grin at him. Sorry, bro. Didn't know you were actually a Greek fucking _god_, and holy shit, I must be going _crazy_. My cat meows at him, and I think he says somethin' to Death Guy, 'coz his dark eyebrows go up, all surprised. I don't understand what Hades says, but it must be rude, 'coz Death Guy looks pissed. It's funny as hell.

And that night, the EMTs say I'm good; tell me to go to the hospital if I feel like I need to. But I don't need to, 'coz my throat and lungs feel fine. Feel healed, and it's then that I realized that the only reason my hand and my stitches haven't healed is 'coz they were injuries inflicted by a _god_. And I laugh a little then, too, because this whole situation is fucking _crazy_. And we're in his car, and I'm covered in ash and soot and tired as fuck. We stop at a 24 hour Walgreens, buy pet shit, buy clothes to sleep in and buy clothes for the next day and buy soap, too. The kid I gave my jacket to still has it. Doesn't matter, 'coz it's ruined, like the rest of my clothes.

And then, finally,_ finally_ – at 2:00 in the morning, we reach Death Guy's brownstone. He directs me to the shower, and gives me the clothes, and goddamn, I sprint there. I shower, rinsing my hair and body and it feels fucking amazing. I've never felt so good after taking a shower. I put on my new pajamas, brush my teeth, walk out, feeling heavy and tired. I don't even notice how awesome his house is – distantly, I kinda do, but I'm so fucking tired, I just wanna collapse. So I find the nearest couch and fall on it, instantly falling asleep. Sorta.

"Oh, no," I hear Death Guy distantly at the edges of my consciousness. "I'm sleeping there tonight, Jimbo." Then, I'm being carried, lifted in strong arms, and being placed in a bed, I think.

And from far away, I can hear him and my mom and him talking. He tells her she can use the upstairs bedroom, that he'll sleep on the couch. She, being my mom, doesn't want to; doesn't wanna kick a guy out of his own bed; that she'll take the couch, and I'll take the guestroom downstairs. But he doesn't let her, just laughs softly, and I can hear him shuffling towards the couch, laying on it, telling her that she needs a good night's rest, and my mom stops arguing, because damn it all, he's _right_.

That's the first night I spend in Death Guy's house, and I sleep a dreamless sleep.

* * *

A/N: Oh hey, plot, how are you?

Anyways, hoped ya'll liked this chapter. :P Leave your reviews!


	18. Talking Cats and Bad Dreams

I bumped the rating up for this chapter. I personally don't think it's very graphic, at least in terms of description; but yeah. I can't get away with this in the T section anymore. :P I hope ya'll enjoy it.

Chapter 18: Talking Cats and Bad Dreams

HADES

I cannot sleep. My mind is wandering, and my leg hurts, and even as I lie on the soft leather of the couch, I _know_ I will not be able to sleep.

At the apartment, I had seen Thanatos leading elderly men and women. Leading young children. He nodded at me, acknowledged me, and briefly, I had scanned the group he was leading for Cora's son. My heart had been beating wildly, and when I did not see him, a sense of relief flowed through me.

I had been…worried.

And now he knows. Knows who I am. I have no doubt that he's made the connections. They are both now under my protection. I hear a meow, and a small weight falls on my chest. Gray, intelligent eyes stare down at me.

"Who are you, beast? Did Artemis send you?"

Its meow sounds insulted."No, Lady Bast did. I have been sent to guard the boy. As to who I am, the boy has named me Hades; after you, I presume. However, my birth name is Folkvarthr. " Lady Bast?

"Who is Lady Bast?"

The animal stretches, arches its back. "The Three Sisters have kept much from you gods. Much from all the pantheons. Lady Bast has known for a very long time, though. Lady Freya as well. The cats of the world go places and see things that gods and mortals cannot." The animal lifts its small leg up, begins to lick itself. After a few moments, he continues. "You Greeks are not the only gods that act as stewards for this planet."

"I do not understand."

Its gray eyes look up at me, and despite being such a small, young animal, its eyes hold a determined ferocity. "There are millions of you, unaware of each other's presence, often occupying the same space as the other. Very few of you have realized each other's existence. Lady Bast and Freya, and Death – the one you know as Thanatos; they are aware – have known since the beginning of their existence. Morpheus as well." I sit up, a million thoughts running through my mind at once.

"There are other gods." It is not a question – only a restatement of fact.

Licking its fur, the animal nods. "Indeed, Plouton. As numerous as the stars. Or, rather, they _were _as numerous as the stars. Many have died over the millennia. Many more in the past century."

"But as gods, are they not immortal?" The animal's eyes narrow.

"No, Plouton. You above all should know that best." That stings, deep in my chest. The animal walks down towards my belly, begins pressing his paws there. The sensation is unpleasant.

"Would you stop that?"

It – Folkvarthr I should call him, I suppose – meows and stops. "My apologies, Plouton. I am compelled to do certain things by my very nature."

I sit up, swing my legs off the couch, and lean back, looking at Folkvarthr. "It is no matter, Folkvarthr. Tell me, who is Lady Bast?"

He sits on my lap, looks up at me. "Cat-goddess of Egypt. My peoples' queen. Freya is in many ways, as well. She is Norse." I cannot believe what I am hearing.

"What of the Christian God?" I ask.

"He is the Creator. No god has ever seen him, nor his leviathans or angels. The one who _has_ seen him was cast out, billions of years ago; made to rule over a realm of suffering."

I know this story, because I have seen many souls come into the Underworld thinking that they have descended to this place; mistaking me for its ruler. Lucifer. I had only thought them stories. He is real?

"Is he a god?" I ask him.

"A god? No, no, no," Folkvarthr says, flattening his ears. We are speaking very quietly. I am surprised we can hear each other. "He is much more powerful than a god, Plouton, second only to his Creator. He could destroy you all, without much effort, if he wished it."

"Thank you," I say, dryly.

Folkvarthr meows. "Please, master Plouton, it is not meant as an insult. He wishes to do no such thing, either. He really could not care less about you gods." My head is beginning to pound.

"Anyway, you need not worry about Lucifer or the Creator, for they exist in another plane – a plane that you as a god will never be able to reach, unless they wish you to enter their realms. And no matter how much humans wish it, they will never enter the Silver City; and nor will any god from this plane. That is why _you_ exist. You, and Anubis, when he was alive – you ruled the underworlds, along with Hel and many others." I am going to be sick. This is impossible.

"I – I don't believe you. How could we all exist at the same time and not become aware of each other?" It doesn't make any sense. My leg is throbbing, and it _hurts._

"Because the Creator willed it to be so, I presume. No one understands his motives, why he does the things that he does – if he even still _exists_ in this universes' interdemensional plane. What we _do _know is that the boy is very important." The boy? _Jim_?

"He isn't even half-god! His _mother_ is a half-god; he barely has any godly blood at all. How is _he_ important?" My voice is rising, and so I take a deep breath, in an attempt to calm myself down.

Folkvarthr scratches at my stomach, and my eyebrows shoot up in surprise when I feel his sharp nails break through my skin, drawing ichor.

"Pay attention, Plouton. I have little patience for your kind as it is." Insolent little beast.

"_You_ have little patience for _my_ kind?"

"You gods. You Greeks especially. I don't think I've ever seen such an ego-centric pantheon in my life."

"You should see my two brothers," I reply, sarcastically. My stomach has stopped bleeding, and is healing, but I am irritated with this creature. "How old are you, anyway, Folkvarthr?"

He meows at me, jumps down, stretches. "Older than you. And I _have_ seen your brothers. Disgusting louts. Thor and Zeus would get along great. "

I scratch my head. I don't know how old I am. "How old _am_ I, Folkvarthr?" How would he know?

He studies me. "I'd place you around 6,500 years old. Yes, that seems about right. Your father, on the other hand, is quite _ancient._"

"That's very specific. You look so young."

He meows. "Indeed. My body is very new. Now, back to the question you asked me before I scratched you. I apologize for that, by the way. Being in a young kitten's body brings certain compulsions that I cannot avoid sometimes. Anyway, Cora's son is very important for this simple reason: he carries the blood of the four major pantheons left in the world. The Norse, the Egyptians, the Hindus, and of course, most strongly, the blood of you Greeks."

I begin to protest. "But he is weak…"

Folkvarthr hisses. "No, he is not. He has not matured into his strength yet. He will need to, for the coming war. You and I must protect him." My mind is spinning. Jim has the blood of _four_ pantheons? There _are_ four pantheons?

"There is a war coming?"

Folkvarthr licks his paw, wipes his head. "Indeed, master Plouton. A war between the old gods and the new. He is to unite the four living pantheons of the old gods." My leg is pounding, and there is a crashing, loud pumping sound in my ears. It is my heartbeat.

"How could something like this happen?"

Folkvarthr's gray eyes pierce right into mine. "It has been written. It was written the very moment the Creator took Chaos in his hands and formed every single universe, known and unknown. We know of other worlds where this has failed, and you have all perished, and the humans and beings there have been made into mindless slaves. We do not know of a place where the war has been won. We hope to be the first." I really_ am_ going to be sick.

"How can you hope such a thing, when all you've known is failure?" I ask, breathlessly.

Folkvarthr jumps up onto the back of the couch, climbing close to my ear. "Because, master Plouton – in every universe where this has happened, a piece has been missing."

"A piece? What piece?"

His warm breath is on my cheek. "You," he says.

"Me?"

"Indeed, you. You are a wildcard; a thing not anticipated by the new gods, or their leader. You, Hades – you do not exist in any other universe. And that is why, 4,000 years ago, Aphrodite attempted to destroy you, because you were not expected," he motions to my leg, "She nearly succeeded. But things eventually played out as they have in any other universe – with the exception of the fact that _you_ were there, and are here now. The Aether Soul of this world was born, to your lost lover; a thing that _no one_ could have suspected. The Aether Soul always falls into darkness; is always the deciding factor in the battle between the old gods and the new gods. The boy is fast on his way to that path, and you must keep him off it. I will assist you in this, of course. Lady Bast had all but given up hope until she saw you, through the eyes of a black cat, that night you arrived in New York."

"How did she recognize me?" I ask. My vision has tunneled to the point where I can only see my hands in front of me.

If cats smile, then I assume that's what Folkvarthr does next, from the tone in his voice."You are the only Greek god with blue eyes, Plouton. The only god with blue eyes like _that_, period. She recognized you instantly. I'm sure Thor would be jealous, if he ever saw you."

"Who is Thor?"

Folkvarthr jumps down, sits beside me. "Just an obnoxious red-headed thunder god. Much like your brother, actually."

"Wonderful."

I feel Folkvarthr's paws on my thigh. "Plouton, listen to me. You must be vigilant. You must keep this boy safe. His path to darkness has been made even shorter, thanks to your queen's mother forcing his father away. An angry goddess, perhaps justified in her actions; but nonetheless, she has accelerated his path." Forcing his father away? No, that can't be right.

"I've seen his dreams. The boy's father hated him."

Folkvarthr's paws press harder into my thigh, right into my injury. "You saw things from the boy's perspective, Plouton. You know nothing of the father." His nails dig into my leg, forcing me to screw my eyes shut, tightly.

"Stop that." I grit my teeth together. "Folkvarthr, stop." I'm starting to sweat. "Folkvarthr!" My voice is strained, and rough, and I blink open my eyes. I am in a field. Is this a dream?

"No," Folkvarthr says. He is on my shoulder. "This is a vision seen by one of my brethren, Duma. I am sharing it with you. Look, and see truth."

So I do.

I see.

The boy's father is there, standing in this field. And then, my sister, Demeter, appears in a flash of glowing light. I walk closer. Walk; I do not limp there.

"You came," her shrill voice says. "Despite knowing I could smite you with a wave of my hand, you came. I would say I'm impressed, but I'm not, so I won't."

The boy's father, Leland, I remember his name being, gets on his knees in front of her, tears in his eyes. "I did it, you fucking bitch. I left my son and my girl, just like you said. You won't hurt them now, will you? You won't hurt my boy?" His words sound pained and drawn-out. He is in anguish.

"Silly mortal. I never intended to hurt _them_. I just _told_ you that so you would leave my daughter."

"You mean you fucking **_lied_** to me?!" I have never heard such anger come from a human. He gets up, punches her, breaks his arm, and falls back down on his knees. "Why the fuck would you do that? Why the fuck would you make a man leave his _family_?!" His voice is strained, and he is holding his broken arm against his chest.

Demeter's red hair grows dark, her countenance angry, and the stalks of grain around her begin to spin and spin, forming twisters of dark wind. "Because she is _my_ daughter."

Leland is still nursing his arm, leaning forward and almost prostrate on the ground. "You fucking left her," he says. "You never even _raised_ her. You left her and her pop, and when he died _you_ weren't even _there_. I was there – _I _was there to pick up the pieces. We were_ happy_ together, we had our boy. And we're poor, sure, but I could take of her. I was_ doing_ _it_. We were making it _work_, you fucking bitch. I _love_ her. I _love _my _son_. And you made me leave them; made me make them think I hated them for fucking _years_ – you told me you were gonna _kill_ them if I didn't. **_And now you tell me that it was all a fucking lie!? You fucking whore!_**"

"You men are all the same. You took my daughter's virginity, impregnated her with your corrupt _human_ seed. I may not be able to punish my _brother_, but I can certainly punish _you_. _Die_." She pointed at him, and where there was once a man, there was now a splatter of entrails and blood and skin. Thanatos was there, dressed in white, with his black hair slicked back. He looked... different. Then Leland appeared, a shade lost and confused. His life had been taken, and was now over.

He had left behind Cora and his son.

"Now you see," Folkvarthr says.

I nod. "Now I see."

The world swirls, and I am back in my brownstone, sitting on the couch. Folkvarthr is curled up beside me. He meows. "Remember what you must do, Plouton." Then he lays his head down, falls asleep. I shake my head.

"Can't sleep?"

I look up. It is Cora. "I just came down to get some water. I haven't been able to sleep, either."

I yawn. I feel completely exhausted, but my mind is racing. "What time is it?" I ask her.

"3:30. I have to get up for work at 5:00, though with everything going on, I think I might just call in sick." She smiles wryly at me. "Today sucked."

"I am insulted. I take you out for a nice dinner, buy you an amazing pizza, and your only response is an ungrateful 'Today sucked'. You're cruel, Cora. Very cruel."

She laughs. "Shut up, Hank. I just lost my apartment. I can be cranky if I want." Her tone is playful. Despite everything, she has remained light-hearted. And after everything Folkvarthr has told me, I need that spirit.

"Touché," I tell her.

She sits on the stairs, smiles sleepily at me. "You're a good guy, Hank," she says, softly. "I haven't known a good guy like you for a long time." She stands up, motions for me to come up the stairs with her.

"Cora, I don't think that'd be appropriate," I say, nervously.

She giggles, and I laugh uneasily along with her. "It's not like I'm asking you to have _sex_ with me Hank. I'm definitely _not_. But neither of us can sleep, and can I be honest with you? I'm still freaked out with everything that's happened, so I need somebody there with me, okay? Like a nightlight for a little kid. It's childish, I know, I know-" She is scared. To be honest, so am I.

"I understand."

She's surprised. "You do?"

I nod my head, she smiles. "Cool, then we're in agreement." She starts walking up the stairs, and I limp after her, using the railing to pull myself up with each step.

"You should give me a tour of your house in the morning, Hank. I barely got to see any of it when we got here."

"Anything you want, Cora." Now that I see my bed, all I want to do is sleep. She grabs two large pillows, places them in the middle.

"So we won't bump into each other during the night." I nod vigorously. My leg is pounding, and my body is tired. I lay down, almost collapse, shut my eyes.

My dreams are fitful. I am in a dark place. It is not Tartarus. It is not the Creator's hell, either. It is simply darkness.

I can only see myself, and I am naked. And then there are voices, thousands of them.

"You cannot stop what was written, Polydectes!" the voices scream around me, and the darkness begins to cover me; oozing, and black and I know what it is – can tell what it is the instant it touches me, searing and more painful than anything else I've ever known. The black curse that sent these events into motion, thousands of years ago.

"_No, stop! Stop! No, no, no, no!_" It is my voice that screams.

"The boy is ours!" the voices yell. "The boy is ours! The boy is ours!" The oozing darkness engulfs me whole, and my entire body is on fire. There is a voice screaming and tortured-sounding. I do not recognize it as my own, but I know that I am the one who makes those sounds. I cannot wake. I am trapped in this pain; engulfed by this darkness and I _cannot get out_.

"Weak god! Weak god! Weak god! Why should we fear you? Lame and weak and screaming. Listen to his screams, brothers. You have no hope, Polydectes. We will conquer this world, and the new gods will thrive here, just as we have in every other place we've conquered, and your kind will be_ dead_ and _forgotten_."

"Hank!"

That's odd. The voice doesn't sound like the others.

"Hank, wake up!" Wake up?

Is this a dream? I cannot tell. I feel like I have been here…forever.

"_Hank!_"

The darkness is shaking around me; shaking off of me, and then I suddenly feel cold splash of water on my face, and my eyes open. I hear myself breathing heavily. I am holding onto her, and the pillows that were between us are strewn apart and all over the floor and bed. She's facing me, at a bit of an awkward angle because of my grip on her. She has a glass of water in her hand. She's looking at me with wide eyes.

"You were having a night terror, Hank," she says, putting the water on the nightstand. "I had to wake you up. Jesus, are you okay?"

My breathing is getting louder now, because I realize that I have my arms around her, and this situation is _dangerous_.

"I'm fine Cora. Thank you."

"You sure? You're breathing pretty hard." I swallow. She noticed. Of course she would. And I feel her now, in my arms, soft and womanly and I want her, need her, _now_. I need to feel her _alive_ underneath my fingertips; need to feel her skin against mine. I _need_ it, because with what Folkvarthr has told me, we could all die before I ever get to be with her. So I swallow again, clear my throat; tell her.

"No, never mind. I'm not fine. I always want to kiss you. I want to kiss you right now. " I want to do so much to you right now. My voice is tense and desperate. Her mouth opens slightly, and she surprises both of us with what she says next.

CORA

"Then do it," I say. I'm not sure what the hell's come over me. I was sleeping, dreaming of my wolf, leaning against him, and then in my dream, he started freaking out – yelping and biting at himself, and the world around us got dark, and then I woke up with the feeling of arms around me. It was kind of comforting, at first, but as I got more and more conscious, I realized it was _Hank's_ arms, and I turned fast in his grip. What the hell, y'know? I put those pillows there for a _reason_. But then I saw him, and he was shaking, breathing out in short puffs. His t-shirt was soaked through with sweat. He was having a nightmare. No, not a nightmare. Worse: a night terror.

I shook him, tried to wake him easy, but his breathing just got louder, and I could _hear_ his heart pumping loud and fast. So I got my water from his nightstand, and splashed his face with it. And crap, it actually woke him up. And then he looked at me, so grateful and trusting. And yeah, I wanted to kiss him – right then and there.

So then when he said that he wanted to kiss me, I guess I sorta snapped, said what I said.

It doesn't take him long. He kisses me, and it's a soft peck. Nothing special, really. Or it wouldn't be, normally. For some reason, this kiss makes me see stars. He pulls back a little and –

I follow him.

I follow him, because I want more.

More of him. So I kiss him back, a little harder, and his beard is surprisingly soft against my chin and lips.

He rolls me onto my back, and I run my hands through his hair. I nip his bottom lip, and our kiss deepens, and if I thought I was seeing stars before, I must be seeing supernovas now, because _damn_. His tongue finds mine, and he tastes really good. Pomegranates, maybe? Not sure. He starts kissing my cheek, down my neck. He _inhales_ there, right at there at the base of my neck – and he sounds like a suffocating man who's managed to get that last bit of breath he needs before he finally _dies_ from lack of oxygen.

And, fuck – it's _hot_. I know that sounds awful, but _damn_. Just, _damn_.

"Take – take off your shirt," I order. He practically rips it off, and then he's on me again, kissing me on my lips and on my neck and on the top of my chest. And it feels nice, but I need to feel him, too.

So I roll us over, and I'm on top of him. I sit up, look down at his naked chest and abdomen. It's all hard muscle there, just like I knew there would be. What I didn't know would be there is a huge discoloration on his side – kinda like a big, giant burn mark. I can't help myself –

I touch it, and he throws his head back. "Cora," he groans, hungrily. I look down at him, and his eyes are dark. Really, really dark. But I still want to explore his body, so I run my hand down his chest and stomach. He _is_ pretty _grand_.

I can't stay away from him for long, though, so I start to kiss him again, and it starts slow, easy, and then it gets fast, and I can feel his hands squeezing tightly onto my hips; hear his hard breathing when we actually_ do_ manage to break apart from our kiss.

I grind my hips against his, and I can feel him there; hard against me, and the noise that comes from the back of his throat when I roll my hips on him again, slowly, is just _glorious_.

HADES

She is torturing me, grinding herself against me. The sensations make me grip her hips harder, but that is not what I want, and she knows it.

Then she sits back, lifts her night shirt, and reveals herself to me. I swallow down the large rock that has built up in my throat.

She takes off her pajama bottoms and panties, and I turn my head, shut my eyes. I must, or else I will be _lost_.

CORA

He's not looking at me. He's got his head turned and his eyes screwed tightly shut. "Hank," I say. "Hank, look at me."

"I can't," he says through gritted teeth.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"I just can't. Not yet. Give me a moment." Is he really that sensitive? Then again, he _did_ tell me that his wife died a long time ago. Maybe he hasn't had sex since then?

"When you're ready," I tell him.

After a minute, he looks at me, slowing opening one eye, and then the other. "You are_ beautiful_," he says, like I'm a wonder, an amazing thing to be loved and cherished– and even in a time like this, I blush. Then he sits up, grabs my back and brings me down onto his chest, rolls us over again, and he starts kissing my neck, down my chest and my breasts, and there's a moan.

It's so primal-sounding, I can't tell if it came from him or me. Hell, maybe we_ both_ did it.

He takes his sweats off, follow by a pair of boxer-briefs, and then we're both on his bed, naked. We kiss and kiss and kiss, and it's skin to skin contact that I hadn't realized I wanted_ this_ bad. It's fun and amazing and gentle all at the same time, and just as he is about to enter me, he grunts a little bit, clutches his gnarled thigh and then sort of collapses on top of me.

"Hank?"

HADES

My leg has given out from underneath me. It is throbbing, and I cannot move.

"Hank?" My head is on her stomach, and I can feel her fingers in my hair. "You alright?"

I am not alright. My leg has given out. I am ashamed and angry.

"Yes."

She does not believe me, though, and soon I am on my back again. I hate this position.

"If your leg is bothering you, just say it," she says, smiling at me. I still refuse to admit it. "My leg is not bothering me. I just wanted to – ah, I just wanted to –Cora, ah - " I can't talk. She has my length in her hands, guiding me towards her entrance, and then –

Then I'm there, connected to her, for the first time in _4,000 years_. Just the thought of it is enough to make me go over the edge all too quickly. And then she starts to _move_ on me, and my eyes are rolling back and I can feel that fire in my belly start to burn and burn _hot_ and _fast_ -

"Stop," I groan. I don't _want_ her to stop, but if she keeps going, this will be over before it has truly begun.

"Hank?"

"Cora, wait. I need to – I need to calm down."

CORA

He feels so good there, in me. _So _good, and I just want to get to that peak fast because of all the crap that's happened, so I move my hips fast and hard, and his loud breathing gets louder, and his grip on my hips gets tighter, so I just keep going and going and then he says: "Stop."

And even though he feels _so_ _good_; feels _perfect _against me and in me, I stop. It takes all my effort, but I stop.

He swallows hard, then nods his head. "Go slow," he moans, totally and completely out of breath. "I want to last longer than a few minutes." He chuckles, and that's breathless, too. Funny thing is, I want to last longer than a few minutes, too, so I start slow, and guess what? He grabs my hips, and he's on top again. I guess his leg is feeling better. He grins at me that beautiful grin of his that makes me weak in the knees; kisses me with that mind-blowing kiss of his that makes me see stars, and all is forgiven.

HADES

I can kiss her here more, like this, so I do. Kiss her breasts, each of them; love them and her and her whole body. Soon, though, my breath catches when she rolls her hips against me, and I know that she wants a fast release. I had wanted to last; had wanted to go slow. But, perhaps after 4,000 years of celibacy, going slow can wait for another time. So I put my thumb against her nub, near to where we join, and begin to rub firm circles. She rolls her hips against me again, hard and involuntarily, and clench my jaw to keep myself from falling over the edge right then and there.

"Hank," she moans. "Oh, Hank." I wish she knew me; wish she would say _my_ name. Her breathing is getting louder, faster, and her chest is rising up and down; her perfect breasts bouncing each time she exhales.

Then she does something with her inner walls. She squeezes them, through her own will; squeezes them around _me_, and there's a guttural noise. Likely, it comes from me. I fall forward, pressing my chest against hers and breathing in her scent. She smells like new forest dew and flowers and spring and summer. She smells like _life_, and I breathe it in, because I _need _to. I'm aware of how starved I sound. I'm aware, because I _am_ starved. Starved for her touch and her kiss and now that I have I have them both I _cannot get enough_. I push my hips into hers, and she pushes against me each time, and we're timed in perfect unison.

And then she cries out, and I can feel her clench and pulsate around me, and I can hang on no longer. I am lost with her; I am lost in her. Her hands are running up and down my back, and her breath is coming hard in my ear. I'm sure mine is as well; ragged and harsh.

I don't want to let her go, not ever again. I can't.

CORA

He lays on top of me for a few minutes, and then he slips out when I pat his back, silently nudging him to do it. With all that muscle, he's heavy.

He gets out of bed, walks into the bathroom, and then comes out with a warm wet towel, wipes me down, and he's gentle and he looks at me with heavy-lidded eyes and kisses my belly and kisses me all over and the whole thing is so friggin' sensual that if I wasn't already exhausted, I'd jump his bones right there again. He goes into the bathroom for a second time, comes out wearing a new pair of black boxer-briefs. I don't say anything about the scar on his leg. I put on my underwear, too. The wave of massive guilt that I expect from having a one-night stand doesn't come; I just feel happy and content. I feel safe, too.

Okay, there_ is_ something that's bothering me – something I didn't even think about in the heat of the moment because everything was going so friggin' fast.

"We didn't use a condom," I say, matter-of-factly. And I'm not on birth-control. I can't get pregnant right now. And what if he has ….I dunno, a disease? Why the hell didn't I think of this before?

He just shakes his head, sighs sadly. "You won't get pregnant, Cora. I'm sterile." When he says that, a part of me feels relieved. Another part of me feels…sad, too.

"STDs?" I ask him. Rude, yeah – but it's really early in the morning, and I haven't exactly had the easiest week.

"No, Cora." He says it with a finality of tone – like a king laying down the law, no room for argument, so I believe him. Both of the things he says. And then he's back in the bed, and he pats the space beside him, and I don't even think about it; I join him there, put my head on his chest. His heartbeat is steady and strong.

"I like your heartbeat," I tell him, drowsily. I'm really, really tired now. I think the clock says it's 5:00. I am definitely calling in sick today.

"I know," he says, and his tone is amused. His arms wrap around me tightly, and he kisses the top of my head.

"You know?"

"I know. Sleep, Cora. I'm right here. I'm not leaving."

And with him there, holding me, I sleep.

Deep down, I know it's good for us.

Deep down, I know this night has led to something more too.

* * *

A/N: Probably will be the last chapter for a while, guys; likely a week, at least. Sorry 'bout that, but you know how things go. If I can get a chapter out earlier, I will.

Anyways, leave your reviews. :)


	19. Regret

A/N: I make an annoying amount of typos. Can somebody recommend a beta reader? Or does someone want to be my beta reader, eh, eh, eh? :D Eh? Pawwwweez? I will love you forever. :P

Chapter 19: Regret

CORA

There's a light buzzing sound, close by. It's getting louder and louder and –

I open my eyes, and in the darkness of the room, I see my old cell phone ringing; the blue light on its front screen flashing with each ring. Seriously? Who the hell would call at this hour? …But what _is_ this hour? It feels like it's 6:00 in the morning. I stretch my hand out towards the nightstand, but I can't reach it; there's something around my waist holding me back, and for a moment I have a mini heart-attack. I look down, see the dark hairs on the arms wrapped around me, and I start to panic even more. _Who is this?_ Also, why the hell am I wearing only _underwear_?

There's soft breathing behind me, warm on my neck, and I suddenly notice that there's hard muscle at my back. And then I realize – get past all the fog of sleep – and I know who it is.

_Hank_.

We slept together.

But did we _sleep_ together?

Oh God.

We _did_.

My phone keeps ringing and ringing, vibrating against the nightstand. I have to answer it – it's probably Rachel. I try to reach out, grab my phone, but Hank's grip on me keeps me from getting it.

And his arms just get tighter around me each time I try to move. Dammit all.

My phone keeps ringing. One more try. I reach out, manage to get it closer with my fingertips, and then I grab it. Yes! Cora: 1, phone: 0. Take that, phone. You don't want none of this, nuh-uh. I flip the phone open, answer it.

"Hello?" I say. I try to keep my voice low.

"Cora, you just get up? " Yup, it's Rachel.

I rub my eyes. "Yeah, why? What time is it?"

"12:30." The room is dark, but the windows are covered, and through the cracks in the blinds, I can see bright rays of sunlight shining through.

"Shit. Well, I wasn't gonna come in this morning anyway – I need to take a day off." I've managed to twist around in Hank's arms a little bit, get on my back. He hasn't moved, and his breathing hasn't changed. Man's still asleep after all my squirming around. I wish I could be a deep sleeper like that.

"Yeah, chica, I figured. Besides I'm glad you didn't come in today. More tips for me."

"Gee, thanks," I say, still trying to keep my voice low. He may be a deep sleeper, but I don't want to chance waking him. His hair is front of his eyes, his scar looks less angry. He looks so…peaceful.

I can't ruin that.

"You're welcome, chica. Hey, why're you whispering? You got somebody there with you, huh, huh? _Huuuuuhhhh?_"

"Well, yeah." No point in lying to Rachel. She just knows these things.

She does her Banshee-scream, and I lower the volume on my phone because she's _loud_. "Holy shit you _slept_ with him?! That was _fast_, chica. But congrats." She's got that Rachel-tone going, and I know that's she's waggling her eyebrows and grinning and generally looking like Norman Bates. Yeah, the killer in _Psycho_. Yeah – she gets pretty scary looking.

"How was it?" she asks me, trying to be all covert-like. I trace the back of my hand against the beard on the side of Hank's cheek. It's soft, mostly. Prickly in some parts, but mostly soft. His nose twitches, and I can feel myself grinning.

"It was…nice," I say, remembering the heated kisses and soft touches. I sigh, rubbing my fingers along his jaw. "Better than nice, actually. Pretty damn good. It was a mistake, though. We shouldn't have…"

"No, no, no, girl – don't get started on that. You're a grownass woman. You slept with a guy you like – you like him, right?"

Yeah, I do like him. I like him…a lot, actually. "Yeah, but-"

"Right, you like him. And girl, you'd have to be blind to not to see that you freaking awe him with your smexyness-"

"Smexyness?" I keep my laugh low.

"Yeah, smart and sexy. Smexy. Get with the picture, chica. So you're moving a little fast – sex after a first date. I don't think he'll dump you 'coz of that, if you're worried. I mean, he _did_ ask you and Jimmy to move in with him until you got back on your feet. You wanna slow it down, just tell 'im."

"I think we're past the point of no return on that, Rach." I'm surrounded by his bed sheets, surrounded by his smell.

It's a little intoxicating.

Okay – it's _really_ intoxicating.

"No, no you're not. Stop worrying. I mean, you were safe, right?" Ha, no.

"…."

"Oh, Cora…now _that _was a mistake." You're telling me, Rach.

"I know. We both kinda forgot. It was early in the morning, y'know?" She sounds like she's nodding.

"Hot morning sex is the best kind of sex, I agree – but girl, you know about these things. Condoms, condoms, condoms. That's my mantra. Also birth control. But seriously, that was not smart, chica."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I say, groaning. "Honestly, though – I don't think he _has_ any."

"You're shitting me. What kind of guy doesn't have condoms? And a sexy guy like that?" This kind of guy, Rach.

"I don't think he goes on lots of dates, Rach. He's pretty shy."

"Even better – sexy _and _sensitive." My fingers are running through his hair.

"I said shy."

"Same thing, chica. Anyway, you think you're gonna be sleeping with him again?" There's a deep sigh that comes from the back of his throat when I run my hand down the length of his well-muscled arm, and I gulp.

If I were smart about this, I'd stop; slow things down, say no.

But then I think about last night – how everything just seemed to flow and go naturally…

"Probably," I say.

"Buy some condoms…When's the last time Aunt Flo visited you?" she asks me.

"Week ago. He said he's sterile." When I hear the words come from my mouth, they sound completely ridiculous. No gravitas whatsoever. No believability either. Damn.

"Yeah, well, we'll see. Morning after pill won't hurt. Your cycle is just right for you to not giving Jimmy a sibling, but yeah – get a test, too." Definitely. Expensive, but worth it. Still, though –

I don't think I'm pregnant. It's only been a few hours, but…

I don't have that ju-ju, going, and I remember when I got pregnant, I knew – I just _knew _instantly that I was…and, more than that… I trust Hank, too. Stupid, I know…but true. I believe him. I hear the sound of The Trident's manager, Mal, shouting and irritated. I'd recognize that reedy voice anywhere.

"Hey chica, I gotta go – Mal said break time's over. Listen; I get off at 2:00 tomorrow – you wanna meet for lunch?"

I smile. "You know it. I'll have to figure out what to do with Jim…but yeah. That sounds nice."

"See ya soon, chica."

"See you." She hangs up, and I look down at Hank. He's moved a little, gotten closer. I gently, _gently_, pry his arms off of my waist, sit up, get out of bed. He seems to replace me with an arm-full of sheets. I smile.

He's…sweet.

Sweet like Leland was…

No. I'm not going to think about Leland. Leland is in the past.

I get dressed, putting on the cheap clothes I got at Walgreens last night. Track shorts and a cheesy t-shirt that says: "I Love New York." Tacky, but beggars can't be choosers.

I open the bedroom door, pad out as quietly as I can and walk downstairs. My stomach growls, and without me even knowing where it is, my feet take me straight to the stainless-steel fridge in the brownstone's gorgeous kitchen, complete with granite counter-tops, and mahogany cabinets. Wealth, wealth, wealth, wealth. So much wealth. Not as flashy as a Ferrari, but still pretty damn flashy.

I open the fridge, hoping to find some mouth-watering, "food of the gods", type of stuff – expensive food that rich people get, with expensive designer food labels, but no.

There's bottles and bottles of this bizarre….sparkly bronzish fluid. Okay, weird. No labels either, but the stuff is in nice bottles. Maybe he does home brewing? And as for food, there's a ton of this cake-looking stuff. Jesus, does this guy have a huge sweet-tooth or something?

Then again, he did recently move here…I'd hate to think that he's only been eating out since he got to New York.

"Grocery shopping time, I guess." Because seriously – this is not okay.

JIM

"Jim, wake up." I'm warm and surrounded by pillows. I feel like I'm on a fucking cloud. I've never slept on such a niceass bed before, and it's makin' me feel lazy and sleepy, and my mom is tryin' to wake me up early on a Saturday morning. Not cool.

"Frrivee more minuteess, Ma," I say.

"Babe, it's almost 1:00."

"Frrive more minutesss." I hear her sigh.

"Fine, kiddo. I'm going to buy some groceries; there's not much in the fridge. I should be back in a couple of hours. Hank's still asleep, so when you get up try to be quiet, okay. "

"Maaaa."

"Okay, okay; I'm going." I hear a meow, and then there's a cat nudging my face. Fuck. Ain't no way I'm gonna be able to sleep now. "Looks like Hades wants you to _get up_ and_ feed_ him."

"Frrivve more minutes, Hades…." My mom walks out, leaves the door open, and my cat licks my face.

"Ugh, bro, not cool," I say, opening my eyes. He just nudges face, fucking licks me again. "Alright, alright. I'll feed ya, damn."

I get up out of the bed, head into the kitchen, feed Hades. My stomach growls, really fucking loud.

"Damn, really?" I open the fridge. "The fuck _is_ this shit?" Lots of bottles of bronze liquid and lots of cake. The fuck?

Oh yeah, that's right –

This guy's a fucking _god_, and this is _god_ food.

And I'm alone in his fucking house…

Shhhhiiiiieeeettt…..

"What are you doing?" And that's his voice, right on que.

"Just lookin' for somethin' to eat." I look up from the fridge, give him a quick glance. Dude, put on a fucking shirt, please.

Don't look at me like that. I see plenty of shirtless guys at school, okay – that shit doesn't bother me; isn't what's bothering me now.

No, what's bothering me is…well, this guy's body is a _wreck_. Scar on his face that's cringe-inducing just 'coz it looks painful as fuck; bum leg, sliced up by his brother – who I guess is either Fish Lord or Thunder Thigh Man, I dunno, 'coz he never specified; but I'm glad I don't see that, 'coz at least he's got sweats on – and then, this…burn scar that just _covers_ his right side, across bits of his lower abdomen and up his chest…even some bits that go up to his neck that I didn't notice before. Probably 'coz he wears collared shirts. And it freaks me out, 'coz it reminds me of the fires and the heat from last night and my palms start to sweat.

Shut.

Up.

His eyes narrow. "What are you staring at, boy?" Hades hisses at him, and Death Guy flicks his eyes towards him, frowns. Good cat.

And people say dogs are man's best friend.

"Nu-nothin', man." I stutter, 'coz that scar just looks fuckin' painful. What the hell could do all this shit to a _god_?

I know he ain't satisfied with that answer, either, but my cat meows at him again, and he grimaces, rubs his ruined belly, like he's just remembering the fucked-up thing that mars his skin. He lifts his chin a little bit, scratches his beard. "Where is your mother?"

"Out to get groceries," I tell him. My words come out all fast. Dude, please, please, _please put on a shirt._ That shit is hard to look at.

He nods, turns and starts to limp out. "Don't eat too much of the ambrosia. The nectar is off-limits. Meet me in the living room when you're done."

Well okay, Death Guy. I'll just have a piece of godly food for fucking breakfast.

In the meantime, put on a _fucking_ shirt, _please_.

HADES

I had woken up in a panic when I saw that she was not there, had thought the previous night to be a dream; another illusion of Aphrodite's. But it _was_ real, and the fact that she was not there with me was also real. I saw her pajamas folded neatly at the edge of my bed; knew that she hadn't left completely, and my hammering heart had slowed down. I had pulled on my discarded sweats, and went as fast as I could downstairs.

I heard rustling in the kitchen, and proceeded there, spotted the boy.

He is seated across from me now, lounging on the couch with Folkvarthr on his lap. He is eating a piece of ambrosia. Folkvarthr is watching me.

_You are troubled, master Plouton_. His voice echoes in my mind. _Do not worry. She is safe. My brethren are watching her._ I close my eyes.

"So, uh, ain't you s'possed to have flaming blue hair or somethin'?"

JIM

So, this ambrosia stuff is fucking amazing. It doesn't taste like food, really – more like the greatest memories you've ever had. The best ones, when you remember your pop huggin' you, and huggin' your mom, and knowing that yeah – everything was gonna be okay. That memory of your best friend's kiss. That amazing feelin' that comes with it, too. All that comfort and safety and warmth all put into one fucking amazing cake-thing that makes you feel like you're the greatest thing on earth. Yeah, I can see why it's fucking god-food. Best part of all this? Death Guy put a fucking shirt on. _Finally_.

I'm feeling so good, with my fucking awesome cat on my lap, that I start gettin' weird thoughts and questions I wanna ask.

"So, uh, ain't you s'possed to have flaming blue hair or somethin'?" Hey – maybe Death Guy has seen _Hercules_. I mean, it's possible, right?

"Excuse me?" He doesn't look pissed off or anything – just really fucking confused. And I fucking swear, my cat _laughs_.

"Yeah, you know – blue flame hair, schmoozy; try to release the Titans and all that; take over Olympios – "

"Olympus."

"Olympus, whatever."

He's got this look on his face, like "what-the-fucking-hell-are-you-taking-about-kid?"; brows all furrowed, mouth all twisted.

"It's a movie," I say, scratching Hades' ears. He's purring.

"I am not a _movie character_." He sounds pissed now. My cat makes that weird laughing sound again, and Death Guy tells him to shut up. Not cool, man. You don't tell him to shut up. He ain't yours.

"No; you're just a _mythical_ god that kidnapped a girl and married her. Nice going."

I look him, and he's glaring and frowning at me. "It was more complicated than that." He says it through gritted teeth.

"And wasn't she, like, your _niece_? You sick fuck. " I'm just fucking with him now. And the funny thing is, I'm not scared of that power he has on a constant simmer.

He grips the handle on his cane and suddenly I feel really fucking cold.

Okay, I lied – I'm still scared. Shut up.

"I could destroy you with a snap of my fingers, boy. Do _not_ try my patience." My cat hisses at him, and Death Guy rolls his eyes.

I smile at him. "Ehhh, you wouldn't do that – you like me too much." His eyes narrow, and his lips curl up and, fuck, if that ain't a scaryass smirk, I don't know what the fuck is.

"Do you want to test that theory?" Nah, man. I'm good. When I don't answer, he sighs, leans back in his chair, massages his leg.

"Tell me about the fire last night," he says after about a minute, rubbing his eyes. My skin starts to heat up when I think about it. Do I tell him about Raj and Carl? About the gold eyes and the new gods and the old gods crap?

Fuck it – he probably knows somethin' about it already. No use in keepin' stuff from him.

I tell him everything; fucking _everything_. From seeing their gold eyes in class, to making the flower for Vy (I need to call her. Maybe Death Guy will let me borrow his phone…) – he smiles a little when I tell him that – hell, I even fucking tell him about our _date_, and then when I get to the part about the fire, I don't skimp on any details. I tell him every fucking word that possessed Carl said to me, and if he's shocked or surprised, his face doesn't show it; tell him about my cat guiding me through the fire – how I just, like, had to fucking _do_ something. I tell him fucking _everything_.

And you know what? It feels nice to be completely honest with someone, and not have 'em look at you like you're fucking crazy. Like how Alex did when I told him I could control plants.

'Course, that could just mean that I'm crazy, and this guy is too. With this ridiculous story, that's probably the real explanation.

"You were very brave," he says, quietly, softly, and I barely catch it. The words make me feel me feel… Good. Hades nuzzles my face, and the big smile I've got on my face gets even fuckin' bigger.

"You ain't gonna say it was stupid?"

He chuckles, and it's a warm sound, makes me chuckle too. "No, it was _incredibly_ stupid. But brave all the same."

I grin. "Brave like Hercules?"

He smirks at me, leans a little forward. "Now you're pushing it. Heracles had to deal with my sister. _I'm_ not even brave enough to do _that_." His smile turns into a grimace, and he grabs his thigh, squeezes it. And you know me: I gotta ask those awkward questions.

"So you gonna tell me which brother did that to you?" I wanna know. I gotta know.

He looks at his leg for a moment, looks back up. "Zeus," he says, flatly. Shit man. Fucking shit. Zeus? Fucking _Zeus_? I'm living in a world with gods and goddesses, talking to the ruler of the dead, and I feel like my brain is melting out of my ears.

Then, he keeps talking, staring at the floor. "Jim," holy shit, he said my name, "I've made many mistakes in my life. I…still do. All the…scars you see, I brought on myself."

HADES

I am not entirely sure why I am telling him all this. These are not things that I freely admit to _myself_, let alone _others_. _Good, master Plouton,_ I hear Folkvarthr say in my mind. _Empathy will lead to trust. _Why do I need him to trust me?

_Because he needs someone to trust. _He has his mother, Folkvarthr. If I am to be his guardian, then so be it. I will do it gladly. I do not need his _trust_. Folkvarthr hisses, and Jim scratches the animal's ears. _How do you expect to protect someone who does not trust you, Plouton? _I'm starting to see why people prefer dogs to your kind. _You care for him, and he needs someone to trust. Be that man, Plouton._ There's something left unsaid there. What aren't you telling me, Folkvarthr? No answer. Damn cat.

Still, he has a point, so I continue. "I've let anger control me; hurt those closest to me. My brothers would say that regret is…below a god. It is not."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

Folkvarthr and Thanatos are right.

I _do_ care for him.

I do, and I…want to earn his trust. What is happening to me?

JIM

He purses his lips. Looks like he's thinkin'. "I've fought my brothers; seen the two women who I ever loved both die in front of me; been maimed and permanently scarred," he looks at me, " I suppose that I'm telling you all this because I don't want you to 'fuck up' like I did." Precision f-strike, Death Guy. Bravo.

"Well, thanks…I guess." And then I get it. This guy ain't …evil, like the Disney movie says he is. Ain't even cruel. Just doin' a job that's gotta get done. Besides the holy-shit-fuck powers, he's…just a guy. A guy who's made mistakes and got regrets. He ain't perfect. And I dunno why, but somethin' about that makes me feel kinda…close to him or somethin'.

And his words sorta sink in more and more. _I've fought my brothers; seen the two women who I ever loved both die in front of me. _

_ Seen the two women who I ever loved both die in front of me._

_ Both die in front of me._

_ Die in front of me._

_ He has made himself obvious here, searching for his queen, thinking that when he reveals himself, the revelation will be easier to understand. Getting close to her. Close to you._

_Mom_? His _queen_? She…she _died_?

Now, I ain't a major mythology buff, but if sixth grade was good for anything, it was teachin' kids some of the basics.

And the basic story goes that this guy kidnapped a girl. Kidnapped his niece, named…Persephone, I think. Tricked her to stay in the Underworld with some magic pumpkin seeds. Er, pomegranate seeds. My bad. Like I said, I'm not good with this stuff.

"You're here for my mom." It ain't a question.

He looks at me, right into my eyes. "Yes."

"My mom is…Persephone." This is too fucking crazy.

But it makes sense, too. Persephone was like…a flower goddess. Spring goddess, whatever. And I can control plants. Does that mean my mom can too?

"Yes." Funny thing is, it ain't Death Guy who says it. It's Hades.

I stare down at him, and his gray cat eyes look up at me. "I _thought_ I heard you talking to me yesterday." So I'm having a conversation with a god and a cat. What have you done with your life lately?

He meows, stretches, and jumps off my lap.

"Seeing as you already know about master Plouton here, I see no need in keeping up this charade." Great; he's got a sophisticated accent, too. Not British, not really anything in particular – just sophisticated as fuck.

He licks his paws, wipes his ears. "My name is Folkvarthr." Well. That ain't gonna be easy to pronounce.

"Folkvatherrer," I say, and the word comes out slurred and stupid-sounding. My cat doesn't seem to mind, though.

"Close enough," he says, meowing. My life has gotten so damn weird.

"Can't I just call you Hades?" Seriously – that's so much easier to say.

My cat looks up at Death Guy, who gives an uncomfortable smile, shakes his head. "I don't think that master Plouton appreciates having a cat named after him. You may call me Folkvarthr. Excuse me." And then he just walks out; goes to some other part of the house.

HADES

Before Folkvarthr leaves, I hear his words clearly in my mind. _Tell the boy nothing of what I told you last night. The time is not right, and he is not ready._ I agree. I am barely coming to terms with the knowledge myself. _Lady Bast is summoning me. We will speak tonight. _

"So….since my mom is a goddess, I'm a demigod." You're something more than that, boy.

I do not tell him this.

"Yes."

"And…she…died?" I clench my jaw as my leg begins to pound.

"She did."

"So…was she…like…reincarnated or somethin'?"

"She was."

"But…I thought…well, ain't you guys s'possed to be immortal?" We are, indeed, _supposed_ to be.

We are not.

"You would think. Being a god is…complicated, Jim." Even more complicated now that I know there are _four_ pantheons.

"I'll bet. So…who is the other girl?"

I frown. "No one you would know about, Jim." She is at peace now, and she has forgiven me. I sigh, loudly and shakily. "But, if you _must_ know…I…loved her. Very much."

"But not how you love my mom," he says, sitting up on the couch.

JIM

He doesn't even have to say anything. I know it's true – can tell it's true just from the look in his eyes. Can tell that if he had to choose between the world and my mom –

He'd choose my mom, every time.

And that gets me thinkin' – if I ever had a choice like that…what would I choose? Sacrifice the world for the person I love the most?

What would I do?

What's the right choice?

"That's right. Not how I love your mother," he says, smiling.

I gotta make him promise. I gotta, because if he hurts my mom like…like how my dad hurt my mom, she'll never be the same. And I don't give a fuck if he's a god – gods can die, he told me so; and if he hurts her, I'll find a way to fucking _kill him_. "You won't ever hurt her." That ain't a question, either. That's an order.

"Never."

Nuh-uh, not good enough. "Swear on it," I say, and his smile gets bigger.

"I swear on the River Styx that I will never hurt her," he says, "I make that unbreakable oath, and should I not keep my word, I will trap myself in Tartarus for the rest of my days." Tartarus? That shit sounds familiar…like a word I heard in a dream…where did I hear that word?

There's a sound at the door, and then I hear my mom coming in.

"Hey guys," she says. From the corner of my eye, I can see that's she's gonna need help, so I'm not shocked when she asks, "Can one of you help me out?"

I let him do it. I let him pull himself up and limp over to her, because I know that he wants to.

Weird thing is, some part of me is…okay with that.

Because the same part of me that knows he'd sacrifice the world for her; do it over and over again, knows that he wouldn't ever hurt her, either.

So yeah.

The Lord of the Dead ain't so bad after all.

CORA

Milk, eggs, orange juice, pasta, macaroni, fruit, deodorant, clothes from Goodwill – easy stuff to buy.

Buying condoms, though – well, it was kind of embarrassing. I went up to the pharmacy, bought a pregnancy test, bought a pack of condoms. Oh yeah, and that morning after pill. God, it was _awkward_.

And to make it worse, the whole time I was shopping, I was thinking about Leland. Everything I saw reminded me of him; his favorite food, Tres Leches cake; his favorite drink, yellow Gatorade. The entire grocery store reminded me of him, and when I was buying the condoms and the pregnancy test, I felt awkward, and I felt depressed.

Because Leland…I really did love him. He was so sweet. When I told him I was pregnant, he was _happy_, said, "We can do it, babe." And we _did_ do it – we had Jim, bought a small house, and we were poor kids, but for a time, we managed it. And then one day, a little bit after Jim had turned three, Leland started to get distant. Started to stay out late; ignore me and Jim, sleep on the couch. Said things about Jim that…that I never pictured he would _ever_ say. There were times when he looked at me, and I could see that he still loved me; but he had changed.

We argued a lot, though he _never_ hit me. And things just sort of continued like that, for years, and I would occasionally see those loving glances that he used to give me. But those days had passed.

I remember, he even asked me, after a really bad fight when Jim was around seven: "Why don't you just leave me, Cora? You could do so much better than me."

Why _didn't_ I leave?

I didn't leave because I knew Jim needed him; adored him; hung onto some classic memory of his father when he was a baby and remembered Leland holding him and comforting him like a real dad.

So I didn't leave him. I didn't, but I _should _have, because the way he left _traumatized_ Jim and me.

Especially Jim.

Do I hate Leland? No, I don't. I'm angry with him; will probably be angry with him for the rest of my life, but I don't _hate_ him. I don't even know where he is; if he's even _alive_.

I just wish he would stay out of my head.

Because when I think about Hank, Leland starts to pop into my mind, and I feel like kissing Hank again will just make things worse.

And I don't want that – because if there's definitely one thing I'm ready to do again soon, it's _kiss _that man.

When I walk into the brownstone around 3:00, bag of groceries in my hands, contraceptives and tests in my purse, and Leland in my head, I feel myself smile, because the guys are talking.

Leaning in, relaxed and comfortable with each other. I don't want to interrupt, but I need help, and when I ask for it, Hank gets up; leaving his cane behind.

Fast, too.

And can I say sexy in sweatpants and a t-shirt? Because he is. He smiles at me, gently puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me into the kitchen. And Leland is pushed to the back of my mind; I force his memory there, because he is _not _here; hasn't been for a long time.

But Hank _is_ here, hand gently at my back; his other arm helping me carry another bag.

He's here, and I feel safe.

And that's a feeling I haven't felt in a really long time.

A/N: K, kind of a break chapter here. Plot and stuff in next chapter. Be on the lookout.

.


	20. Dancing

Chapter 20: Dancing

CORA

He's beside me now, helping me put stuff away.

"You didn't have to buy all this," he says, quietly. He sounds…guilty. Why, though?

"Yes I did. You have a bachelor-fridge with cake and beer." I pat his belly a couple of times, feel the solid muscle there. "Besides, you keep eating out, you'll get fat. I'm doing you a favor."

He does a little bow, smiles faintly at me. "I thank you for your favor, my lady."

"You're welcome, good sir. Now, let's get this food put away."

Working together, it doesn't take very long.

His stomach growls, and he opens the fridge and pulls out a piece of that cake-stuff.

"You _do_ have a sweet tooth." Seriously Hank – you're gonna make a _meal_ out of the stuff?

"No I don't," he mumbles. He takes another bite of the cake, leans against the fridge; winks at me. "It helps my leg," he says after some chewing.

Aha, yeah sure. "I can make dinner, if you're hungry," I say, grinning at him. Myself, though – I'm not that hungry. I had a quick bite to eat after I left.

He shakes his head, pulls a bottle of that bronze liquid out, starts to drink it. "Cake and beer? That help your leg too?"

He smirks at me. "It's not beer." He puts the lip of the bottle to his mouth again, and his Adam's Apple bobs up and down as he drinks it. It's sort of mesmerizing.

"I hope it's not. You'll be super-drunk if it is."

He stops drinking it, shuts his eyes for a moment, and exhales. It's not an exasperated sigh or anything; not irritated at all, actually – he sounds really pleased. He laughs then, and it's warm and joyful. He takes one last sip from the bottle, puts it back in the fridge.

He's about to walk past me, but as he does, he gives me a quick kiss on my nose. He doesn't smell like alcohol. Actually, he smells really good. What _is_ that bronze liquid?

And then he just keeps walking, back into the living room. Oh no, he's not gonna get away with that surprise-kiss and just leave me hanging.

I follow him into the living room; see Jim curled up and sleeping on the couch. I'm not surprised. Last night was…harrowing.

I think about the fire – all our things burning, all those _people_ burning; all those _children_ – how that could have been Jim, and _oh God_ –

"Cora? Are you alright?" Hank's looking at me, concern in those blue orbs of his, looking like he's about to get up from his recliner. And it's weird, because there're times when his eyes look like ice –cold and… calculating, even. And then, for the most part, they'll look calm; and when they're like that, I'm reminded of warm, clear days when I can see the sky; feel the sun's gentle rays on my skin. He's looking at me with those eyes right now, and I'm comforted.

I smile and wipe my eyes, because tears have started to form at their edges. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just a little overwhelmed, is all." I let out a nervous laugh. Christ, I need it. I also need to give my insurance guys a call…Screw it – I'll do that Monday. Calling them now will just stress me out more.

I look around the room, taking in the modern and rustic furniture. You would think the stuff would clash, but somehow it works. Huh. Must've hired a good interior designer. There's a giant t.v. in here, but I'm not interested in it. No, I'm interested in the sound system in the corner of the room, and he notices me eyeing it. "Help yourself," he says, smiling gently.

I walk over to his awesome sound system. I sound like my kid saying it – but it really is _awesome_. Four huge speakers, connected to an iPod.

_His_ iPod.

Which is weird, because I know he has an iPhone; seen him use it. But then I remember that he's a businessman, and probably doesn't want to clutter up his phone's memory with music.

I go through the lists and lists of music on the iPod. It's pretty eclectic, with songs from practically every single genre of music, except maybe country gospel. He may even have some of _that,_ too; I just might have missed it.

I pick Sinatra, because I think his music will relax me. He's on the "Jazz, Easylistening and Chick Songs" playlist. Though it is kind of weird that Hank put "Chick Songs" in the playlist title. Doesn't seem like something he would say.

The song, _Summer Wind_, comes up, easy and smooth. Hank's watching me, looking relaxed and so…familiar.

And then I get an idea, and the song plays.

HADES

The boy shifts as Cora turns on the music, rotating to face out from the couch. The ambrosia has knocked him out. Folkvarthr has returned, and is now curled up on his chest. Everyone is here.

_ The summer wind came blowin' in/From across the sea/ It lingered there to touch your hair/And walk with me_

I look at Cora. She's smiling at me playfully and her grin gets wider as she approaches me. She is standing between my legs; her hands are on my shoulders. I need to thank Apollo for thinking to get a stereo – and for buying the best songs mortals had to offer.

"Dance with me," she says, bringing her lips close to mine. Dance? **_Dance_**?

"I can't dance," I say, trying to lean forward to kiss her. She pulls back just enough so that our lips do not touch. Her hair is spilling forward, and I can feel the auburn tresses on the sides of my cheeks; can smell her sweet summer scent, and she will _not_ let me kiss her.

It is _very_ frustrating.

_All summer long__ we sang a song/ And then we strolled that golden sand/Two sweethearts and the summer wind_

"Yes you can," she says, and I feel her hand at the nape of neck, the other on my shoulder. I sigh, try to kiss her again, but she still denies me.

"Cora," I breathe hoarsely, "My leg. I'll fall."

"Hold onto me," she says coming closer, "and I won't let you fall." And then she _does_ kiss me, softly and tenderly, and I have no choice but to accept her request.

"You're too good at that," I say after she pulls away. My voice comes out husky and breathless. She kisses my cheek, whispers in my ear, "Not as good as you." Then she stands, holds her hand out, and I take it.

I do not remember the last time I danced with someone.

If I have _ever_ danced with _anyone_.

_Like painted kites, those days and nights/They went flying by/The world was new beneath the blue umbrella sky_

She puts my hands on her waist, wraps her arms around my neck. We are very close, and though my leg throbs with the extra weight I put on it, I will manage.

I will do this for her.

"Just let the music take you," she says softly, leaning her head on my shoulder. "Sway with me." The song is moving a bit too fast for me to keep up, but I find that that's not really the point. I'm holding her, and she is holding me, and nothing else will ever feel as right. I catch Jim shift some more on the couch. His eyes open briefly and he smiles kindly at me before he shuts them again, the ambrosia driving him back to sleep.

_ Then softer than a piper man/One day, it called to you/I lost you I lost you to the summer wind_

I rest my head on her shoulder, breathe in her summer scent. My thigh throbs; pounds and hurts, but I do not care.

She will not let me fall.

_The autumn wind/And the winter winds/They have come and gone/And still those days/Those lonely days_

_They go on and on/And guess whose sighs/His lullabies through nights that never end/My fickled friend, the summer wind/The summer wind warm summer wind/Mmm the summer wind_

"Do you want to keep dancing?" she asks me, kissing my cheek. I hold her tightly against me.

"I do," I say, my eyes shut and my forehead leaning on her shoulder. I'll do anything if it keeps her in my arms.

JIM

I think Hades still thinks I'm asleep, but I ain't. I was, but when my mom put on the music, I started to wake up. And I stayed up, 'coz I saw him holding my mom.

Holding her like a guy should hold a girl. I don't ever remember my dad holding her like that…looking at her like that. And they kept dancing, and she whispered somethin' in his ear, and he had his head on her shoulder, said yes. And now the new song is playing, and the whole time I'm thinkin' this guy must've had this all planned or knows someone who likes this fruity music, 'coz I don't think he'd _ever_ buy this shit himself.

_Oh - thinkin' about all our younger years/There was only you and me/We were young and wild and free_

Then again, maybe he would. I don't fucking know. All I know is that he's holding my mom; treating her right; and she's there, smilin' and happy and holdin' _him _too, and all I can think is why the fuck didn't this guy get here _sooner_?

He steps wrong, I think, because one moment he's holding her, and the next moment he's clinging to her, gasping. Like he was just about to fall.

She holds him, though; doesn't let him fall, keeps him steady, and soon they're moving again, and really – it looks better than it should, considering the guy's leg barely works.

And the chick music plays and plays. He doesn't seem to mind, though. And definitely my mom doesn't mind. They're in their own little world, and they're dancing and the music lulls me back to sleep, and I think about Viola. I still need to call her. I'll…do it soon. Real fucking soon. I'm just really tired, right now. And they dance and dance to the music, and I wonder…maybe I could get Viola to dance with me, too. Not that I like dancing.

I don't do that girly shit.

I'm just wondering, 'coz I'm sure Viola would love it.

_Now nothin' can take you away from me/We've been down that road before/But that's over now/You keep me comin' back for more_

And the world starts to grow dark, and I fall asleep again.

CORA

_And baby, you're all that I want/When you're lyin' here in my arms/I'm findin' it hard to believe/We're in heaven_

I love this song. My dad used to belt it out when I was kid, sing it in the car and embarrass me. I miss him, and thinking about my pop, I hold Hank tighter.

_ And love is all that I need/And I found it there in your heart/It isn't too hard to see__/We're in heaven_

And his head is on my shoulder, and he's breathing softly, tightly holding me too. And the whole thing feels just right.

_Oh - once in your life you find someone/Who will turn your world around/Bring you up when you're feelin' down_

He kisses my neck, breathes in; makes me feel like jelly in his arms. The song plays and plays, and we're here; in our own little world, and it's an amazing place.

Yeah, Rach – I like this guy a lot.

HADES

_ Now our dreams are comin' true/Through the good times and the bad/Yeah - I'll be standin' there by you_

There is a knock at the door, and the buzzing sound of the doorbell.

"Hank, there's someone at the door," she says against my cheek. The knock comes again, and I kiss her, gently.

"They can wait," I whisper. We keep dancing, even as I feel Folkvarthr begin to scratch at my legs. _Master Plouton, this is important. Quit your dilly-dallying. _Be quiet, Folkvarthr. The knocks get louder, and the song begins to wind down; begins to end.

"Uncle, what are you _doing_ in there? This is _important_." The voice is muffled through the door, but I know who it is. Apollo. _Indeed_, Folkvarthr says. _He has others with him as well._

_Others_?

_And baby, you're all that I want/When you're lyin' here in my arms/I'm findin' it hard to believe/We're in heaven_

I sigh, letting Cora go. "Excuse me," I say.

"No problem." She grins at me, kisses my nose. It catches me by surprise.

"What was that for?" I ask, chuckling.

Her smile gets bigger. "_That_ was for earlier."

I bend down with some difficulty, pick up my cane lying beside the recliner. I hope that Apollo will have some tact. As for the others…

We'll see.

Jim is still sleeping when I open the door, and Apollo greets me first; his gold curls shining brightly in the setting sunlight.

And then I spot Zeus and Athena, crowded behind him, and the pain in my leg worsens tenfold.

"What are you three _doing_ here?" I hiss. "Apollo, why did you bring them _here_?" I trusted you.

He puts his hands up, reminding me of Thanatos when he is trying to calm me down. "I'm sorry, but this is important, Uncle."

I shake my head. "You don't understand. You _can't_ be _here_." My voice is rising.

"Hank? Something wrong?" She's here, and they're here and my world is about to collapse. "No, no. Nothing is wrong," I stutter, keeping myself in the half-opened doorway. They cannot see each other.

"_Hank_, dear brother? Apollo told me you were here, posing as a human, but I'd have thought you'd be more creative with your name than _that_." I glare at my brother.

"Father, please be quiet." Thank you, Athena. I knew I always liked you for some reason.

Her stormy gray eyes lock onto mine, and her black hair flows in the soft wind. "We need to speak with you, Uncle."

"Not here," I say, shaking my head.

"Yes, _here_. This is the safest place."

Zeus pushes past me, using his superior size, and my leg nearly gives out. Perhaps now, he is superior in strength as well. I swallow. They will see each other. Meet, and my cover will be blown. Demeter will find me, and I will have to fight her. She may even kill the boy.

This is a _disaster_.

"What are you so ornery about, brother? We can be civil." No, Zeus. I pinch the bridge of my nose.

He keeps walking in, followed by Athena and Apollo, and then I hear him stop. He has seen her.

"Why, hello there young lady," he says, full of surprise, and I look up. She smiles warmly at him, extends her hand.

"Hi, you must be Hank's brother…"

"Zachary," I tell her, and Zeus looks at me, annoyed at the part he has to play. _This should be interesting_, Folkvarthr says. Be quiet, beast. I need to think.

She smiles at him, and he takes her hand. "I'm Cora, Zachary. Nice to meet you."

He shakes her hand. He is stunned.

"Aren't you just lovely? And who's this?" Zeus looks at Jim, who has turned to face into the back of the couch. His eyes are slightly open. He is watching us.

JIM

Shit, Hades caught me watching. I had to fucking do it, though, 'coz my cat – he was talking in my head. I could hear his sophisticated as fuck accent say, _Zeus is here. Know his face._ So I kept my head kinda turned to face the back of the couch, made it look like I was sleepin'.

Made it _look_ like I was, but I wasn't, and I could see Zeus walk into the room. And this guy – he _looked_ like a god. Barrel chested, with huge fucking muscles that I could see rippling through his Armani suit. He had short golden blond hair, with swirls of gray in it, and a thick goatee. He really didn't look like Hades at all, who's all lean and black-haired, like a panther. This guy was more like a bear; big and huge and fucking _powerful_. His eyes were gold, too, and I felt…well, I felt scared, dammit. They were gold like Raj's and Carl's eyes, and the whole time I kept thinkin'…is this guy connected to all this shit that's happened? That's _still_ happening?

Because that'd be really fucked up.

And there was a man and a woman with him too; and the woman had black hair, like Hades, and gray eyes, and a t-shirt with an owl on it. She looked nice…but she also looked like she could turn your bones into dust if you so much as look at her wrong. And the guy that was with them – well, he looked like a surfer dude, with curly blond hair, a tan, a perfect fucking smile. Those freaky gold eyes, too.

For fuck's sake, he looked like a goddamn Abercrombie and Fitch model. I wanted to punch his fucking lights out. _Apollo is not one to be trifled with, James._ Cat, that ain't cool. You can't just start speakin' things into my mind like that. He's licking my head now, and Zeus and his gang are introducing themselves to my mom, and she's just going along with it.

"You'll have to excuse my brother, miss," Zeus – fucking _Zeus_ – tells my mom, "We have important business to discuss." And my mom just smiles, nods, understands.

"We'll be in the kitchen," Hades says to my mom. Not gonna lie – he looks fucking pissed. _He is._ Cat, I told you, man – that ain't cool. _My name is Folkvarthr, James._ You think I can fucking say that? And call me Jim, dammit. _James_. Ugh, fine. Do whatever you want, Folkvagina, or whatever the hell your name is. He bites the top of my head, and that fucking hurts. _Don't be so vulgar_, he says. Have you even met me? He doesn't respond, just meows, sits near the top of my head.

Fucking cat.

My mom sits down next to me by my feet, leans back and starts to fall asleep. I'm feeling…sleepy again, too. Then, the chick of the group waves her hands, and I think I black out, because one moment I'm seeing them and the next moment I'm in the world of dreams.

I wonder who _she_ is. _All will be revealed in time, young master,_ Folkvarthr – yes! I fucking got it right – says. _For now, continue to rest_.

HADES

The three of them follow me into the kitchen, sit at the large rustic dining table.

Zeus sits down at the head. Of course he does. I sit to his right, Athena and Apollo to his left, and he leans in on his elbows. He is well-dressed, and I am in sweats and a t-shirt. I feel like our roles should be reversed.

"Mind telling me what the hell is going on here, brother?" Zeus asks, furious. He has no right to be. Still, a part of me feels good that Apollo did not tell him _everything_. He kept his word.

For the most part, anyway.

"Mind telling me why you're at my house?" He slams his fist on the table, cracking it.

I scowl in distaste. "I just bought that."

"That's right, he did – I helped him," Apollo chimes in, excitedly, and Athena slaps his back. "Apollo, _shut up_."

"Why are my sisters always so mean to me?"

"_Apollo._"

"Both of you, shut up," Zeus barks, slamming his hand on my table again, fully breaking the edge off.

I frown. "You better buy me another table."

"Enough with the table already, Hades. That was Persephone I just saw, wasn't it? You came here without telling anyone – without telling _me_?"

I lean back in my chair, shrug. "I don't see how it's any of your business, Zeus. You aren't her father." Not now, anyway.

There is a crack of thunder outside. It has started to rain. "No, but I _am_ your king, Hades. Why didn't you consult me in this?"

"I needed to be discreet. Telling you would have risked Demeter finding out." Although now, Demeter finding out is the _least_ of my worries.

"Who is taking care of the Underworld?" It is Athena who asks the question.

"Thanatos, my judges, Hecate." My friends.

Zeus leans back, looking stern and glaring at me, and then he shakes his head, starts to laugh and reaches across the table and pats my shoulder, gives it a hard squeeze.

"It's been a long time, you old bastard. You haven't been to Olympus in almost a hundred years – everyone thought you locked yourself in Tartarus." He leans back, grins at me. We've been entirely too loud in this conversation. Cora and Jim have probably heard everything. _No, they have not_, Folkvarthr says, his voice reverberating in my mind. How could they not have? _The wisdom goddess put them to sleep. _

Zeus looks around, nodding his head and looking entirely too pleased with himself. "I'm impressed, brother. This is a nice place."

"Glad to know I have your approval. Now, tell me why you're here."

"Look at _you_, being cheeky. Days in the mortal world have done you wonders, brother." Well, that's good. It's wonderful knowing that while in the Underworld I was completely morose for 4,000 years. _You **were**, master Plouton._ Be quiet, Folkvarthr.

He clears his throat, leans forward again on his elbows. "To the business at hand," he says, looking at me, "When Apollo told me you were here," I glare at Apollo, and he shrugs his shoulders sheepishly, "I figured that I had to warn you."

"Warn me?"

Zeus nods, and Athena continues to speak. She says, "Hades, many gods have been falling ill – many have been attacked in the mortal world."

I drum my fingers against the table. "Apollo has told me this already. Dionysus had been attacked-"

"That's right, brother," Zeus continues, and his booming voice has become soft, sad. "Dionysus had been attacked." There are tears near the corners of his eyes. I have never seen him this upset before, and the scars on my face and leg begin to burn.

"Zeus?" Somehow, I know what he is going to say.

"Dionysus is dead." But is not Zeus who says these words – it is Apollo, because my brother has his clenched fist in front of his mouth, unable to speak.

Dead. A god has died.

Apollo keeps speaking, and my ears begin to ring. "The poison took him. He stopped breathing, and his flesh began to deteriorate like a mortal's. He…died yesterday. And when that happened, Father decided to warn you. Hermes is...ill, as well."

Athena places a hand on her father's shoulder, looks at me. "Most have pulled through the sickness…Dionysus was the first to…die." Zeus' eyes are shut, tightly. Have others died since then? _Yes, Plouton._

I feel Folkvarthr weaving around my legs, and then he jumps onto my lap. _It has begun,_ he says. What has begun? His gray eyes peer up at me, and my vision tunnels. I cannot see Zeus, I cannot see Athena, I cannot see Apollo –

I can only see death. And it is not Thanatos; not my friend. This is another kind of death. Gods, millions of them, fighting and destroying one another on a distant world, surrounded by fire and molten rock and raining ash. The sky is red, like mortal blood. And I feel the heat; smell the spilt ichor in all this violence as gods fall, swords in their stomachs, arrows in their hearts – fall to these new gods, who rip their bodies apart and drink in their essences. And as the sky darkens, there are swirls of funneling blue lighting, scorching the earth and bodies on the ground, and maniacal laughter coming from a figure clothed in white.

The old gods of this world continue to fall, to burn, to die; each individual meaningless against foundations of bodies, mortal and divine. I see the figure, floating and sending out the funnels of blue lighting that scorch the earth in patches as large as countries. Has the world become smaller?

Has _Jim_ become larger?

But it is _not_ Jim, because this is not our world. And his eyes are glowing with white light – light as white and as pure as his snow-shite hair, and this figure does _not_ look like Jim. This…corrupted Aether Soul.

He spots me from his place in the burning sky, and his laughter as he says my name sends me to my knees. "_Your world has no hope, Polydectes_," he says, and the words burn deep into my skin. "_The new gods will find you –they will find you, and **I **will destroy you, and with the essence of the gods from your world, we will use our strength to find the Creator and destroy him as well. Keep thinking you're safe, little "wildcard". You and your whore and all those that you love will bend the knee to us, and there is **nothing** you can do to stop it._" The smells and the heat make me sick, and when I retch, I see Poseidon's face buried underneath all the death, and Zeus there, as well.

Everyone. My entire family, dead in this burning circle, being covered in ash as more gods continue to fall.

I am alone.

I am alone, and I am terrified, and as a funnel of blue lightening comes down on my body, utterly destroying me, and I am ripped away from this world.

_War,_ I hear Folkvarthr say in my mind, and I blink. I am back in the brownstone, and only mere seconds have passed.

What have you shown me, Folkvarthr? A vision of the past or a vision of the future?

_Both_, he says, and he jumps onto the table. Zeus is surprised when he sees the animal. Everyone at the table is.

"Greetings, Lord Zeus, Athena, Apollo," Folkvarthr says, bowing low to each of them. "I am Folkvarthr."

"Well, aren't you just full of surprises today, brother."

My hands are shaking, but I laugh. It does not sound right. "I try," I say, my voice hoarse.

My hands will not stop trembling.

"Did Artemis send you?" Athena asks Folkvarthr. He laughs, shakes his animal head.

"You gods are all the same; thinking that your particular pantheons are the only ones with power in this world."

She eyes him, and gray eyes glare at gray eyes. "Explain, animal." And he does.

Everything he told me last night, he relays to them, and their expressions go from shocked to enraged, to shocked again. I wonder if that is how I looked last night when he told me.

"Why should we unite?" Zeus asks, furiously. "Why should I trust these gods whom I do not know;_ trust_ them and _rule_ with them?"

"Lord Zeus," he says, licking his belly, "Your son being attacked and killed is an act of war against your pantheon. The new gods are preparing, taking many hostage; killing them, from the Norse to the Egyptians to millions of the 330 million Hindu gods. It has been happening for many centuries; lesser-known and worshipped pantheons have died out; most have been killed and destroyed, and you four groups are the strongest left."

"There are more than just four," Athena says, fascinated.

"Indeed, my lady. But they are small in number and weak, now. Rest assured, they will send their emissaries as well when it comes for the time to meet."

"Time to meet?" I ask. It is the first time I've spoken since Folkvarthr began to talk.

"But of course, master Plouton," he says, meowing, "You will all need to meet and become allies, if we are to win this war."

"And this – this _boy_; this-this _quarter-god _has the power to _destroy_ these new gods? This, "Aether Soul" as you call him?"

"And you, as well, Lord Zeus." Folkvarthr licks his paws, wipes his ears.

Athena crosses her arms. "Then we destroy him," she says simply. Her words enrage me.

"You will do no such thing," I growl.

Her gaze is expressionless. "Hades, he is a threat. He could destroy us all-"

"Touch him, and _I_ will destroy _you_, mark my words." Where did this…feralness come from?

"Come now, Hades – you're being completely irrational. We must destroy the boy. Father, do you not agree -" She cries out in pain when Folkvarthr scratches her face, causing streams of golden ichor to roll down her cheek.

"You little beast! I will _end_ you!" She tries to reach out, grab Folkvarthr, but he…he is very fast.

Zeus watches the entire exchange, and his eyes look…numb. Apollo looks at me, concerned.

"Athena," Folkvarthr says, speaking in a voice deep and regal, and she stops. "Killing the boy would be most unwise."

She scoffs. "What do you know of wisdom, beast? I _am_ wisdom!" And then she proceeds to stretch across the table, trying to reach for Folkvarthr again.

"Athena," Zeus says, flat and monotone. "Sit back down."

"But Father-"

"Athena, my son has died, and my other son is missing. Do as I say." Reluctantly, she sits back down, glaring at Folkvarthr.

Zeus nods at Folkvarthr. "Explain yourself, creature. Why should we not kill this boy?"

Folkvarthr walks towards him, bows. "Of course, Lord Zeus. Quite simply, if he is destroyed, the old gods will have no chance to win this war. The new gods are too powerful."

Zeus leans his head on his right palm. "And who are these new gods?"

Folkvarthr meows, clears his throat. "They are corruption and complete malevolence, and they serve no purpose for this world. They are, simply, a disease; an infection, a curse. The Creator made it so that they would come into existence, and so they have."

"Why would the so-called Creator do…this?"

Folkvarthr shrugs. "Why does the Creator do anything? I do not pretend to understand his reasoning, because to do so would be impossible. He is the Creator – he is beyond understanding. He simply _is. _

_ "_And as for names of the new gods, I can tell you that they keep their names secret, so as to not be invoked or summoned. They are very careful, Lord Zeus. You will all need to be just as careful." _You especially, master Plouton. The Aether Soul is under your protection now, and if you reveal yourself in any way, you and your lover and the boy will all be in danger_. Folkvarthr, you're going to make me sick. I understand; enough already. _Apologies, master Plouton_.

Zeus clasps his hands together. "Folkvarthr," he says, staring straight ahead, "you said that these new gods have been kidnapping the old gods…is it possible that that is what has happened to my son?"

Folkvarthr jumps onto Apollo's lap, begins to kneed his stomach. Apollo is not bothered in the least, apparently. He will be, soon. "Yes, it is entirely possible, Lord Zeus. I'd even gander that that is exactly what has happened."

Zeus puts his face in his hands. "_My son, my son_." Athena puts her hand on his shoulder.

She peers at Folkvarthr, gray eyes piercing and cold. "I misjudged you, Folkvarthr; forgive me. You are right; killing the boy would be a mistake."

"Indeed it would," Folkvarthr says, meowing at her.

Zeus wipes his eyes, clears his throat. "Alright, beast. You say the pantheons must meet. Where will we have this meeting?"

"It must be on neutral ground," Folkvarthr says. "We cannot have a meeting of different pantheons in one seed of power, like Olympus. Lady Bast has suggested the Ritz-Carlton here in Brooklyn."

I frown. "That's not very inconspicuous, Folkvarthr."

He jumps back on the table. "Indeed, it is not – but the gods will be relatively comfortable. And with multiple pantheons in one building, things are bound to get heated – you all need to be as relaxed as possible."

"We should meet soon," Athena says. "Waiting too long will allow for more of us to be captured or killed."

"What of the boy, then?" Zeus asks, eyeing me. "Are _you_ going to care for him?" Yes. Completely and totally. I nod.

"He will need to be trained in the ways of godly combat and in the ways of his power," Folkvarthr, says, back foot scratching his ear.

"Fine. He will be trained. Pick a date, Hades," Zeus says, leaning back against the leather of his seat.

"Why must I be the one to pick a date?" And who will train him? _You, master Plouton. It is your duty now. _Wonderful.

"Because the boy is in your care, naturally." Zeus, how 'logical' of you.

The date must be soon… "Monday," I say. "This coming Monday." One day. That should give time for the word to be spread, and for the gods to prepare. We need to be quick.

"Very well," Zeus says, looking at Athena, who approves. "The old gods will meet and prepare for war on this Monday, the 3rd of September, 2012."

Folkvarthr nods. "I will inform Lady Bast. My brethren will spread the word." And then he leaves, just as he came.

"What an irritating creature," Apollo says, rubbing his belly. "My stomach hurts now," he complains.

"Apollo, be quiet. I'm trying to think," Zeus snaps.

"_You?_ _Think?_" That was not wise, Apollo.

"Athena, slap your brother for me," Zeus orders.

"Gladly." She slaps Apollo on the back of his head. "Ow! Did you have to hit so hard, sister?"

"Both of you, _shut up_."

"Yes, Father," they say in unison. Zeus turns to look at me.

"Has Apollo told you what the sickness does, brother?" His words are choked. I shake my head.

And then, Apollo begins to speak, voice low, struggling. "I've only seen humans with this type of affliction. The body…goes through…seizures; experiences hallucinations…vomiting, fever… delirium, intense abdominal pain and finally…death." Zeus is grieving, in completely agony as Apollo explains the symptoms.

I understand. I have grieved for so long.

I…reach out, touch his shoulder, and he looks at me, eyes watery. He clasps my hand on his shoulder. "My people are dying, brother," he says in a sputtering laugh. "Dying, like humans. And I've done you so much wrong, and yet here you are, being my brother in spite of it all." These words are making me uncomfortable.

I smile faintly at him. "Do not be so sentimental, Zeus." I am simply doing what is right. He stands up, and Athena and Apollo follow suit. As we walk to the door, Zeus and Athena and Apollo all swear on the Styx that they will not tell Demeter that I have found her daughter.

I walk them outside – the sun is down and it is raining - and then my brother does something unexpected.

He embraces me, tightly. So tightly, in fact, that I struggle to breathe.

"Zeus…can't… breathe –"

"You're a good brother, Hades. Take care of yourself, _please_."

"I…will…do…my… best." He releases me, and wonderful air returns to my lungs.

He pats my back, grins widely. "When this is all over, you and Poseidon are going to get drunk with me."

"Of course, brother." Athena waves her hand, and I hear stirring in the living room.

"They will wake soon," she says.

"When will you tell them who they are? Who they_ both_ are?" Zeus asks me. I do not…know.

"When they are ready," I say, simply.

Zeus nods, shakes my hand, clasping it firmly. "Hades, be careful." I have never seen him so distraught. I grip his hand, squeeze back. "And you as well, Zeus."

He nods, smiles as best he can in all his sorrow, and the three of them walk to his silver Mercedes, and they drive off. "Till next time we meet, brother," I whisper.

I walk back inside, and she is there, leaning against my hallway wall, and she is absolutely perfect in every single way.

I _need_ her.

I need to hold her and kiss her and love her.

So I walk up to her, and she must be expecting me, because she wraps her arms around my neck and smiles against my lips, runs her hands through my hair. My arms are wrapped around her waist.

"That was a long business meeting. It's almost 9:30…how is my good sir, after all that?"

"Tired," I say, burying my face in the crook of her neck. I will never get enough of her scent. She makes a precious sound when I kiss her there, and her fingers running through my hair make me groan. I want her, _badly_, but the experience of the vision Folkvarthr showed me earlier has set my nerves on edge and… completely exhausted me, as well. Dammit.

"Me too," she says. "I think I fell asleep on the couch. Jim managed to put himself to bed in the guestroom. He looked like a zombie." She laughs. "I guess we're all still exhausted from what happened yesterday."

"Completely," I say, holding her close to me. She takes my hand, leads me upstairs, lies in my arms.

_You and your whore and all those that you love will bend the knee to us, and there is nothing you can do to stop it._

My arms are quaking around her, and my jaw is uncomfortably clenched. "Hank, you okay?"

_You and your whore and all those that you love will bend the knee to us, and there is nothing you can do to stop it._

"Go to sleep, Cora. I'm fine."

_There is nothing you can do to stop it. _They underestimate what I willing to do to protect my family –

They do not understand that I would sacrifice the world, and because of that, these new gods have made a very _dangerous_ enemy in me.

She is asleep in my arms, breathing softly. "I love you," I whisper, keeping her tight against my chest. "I have for thousands of years. From the very first day I saw you." I kiss the back of her neck. "And no god, new or old, is _ever_ going to take you away from me again." And holding her there, I sleep, and it's wonderfully, mercifully, dreamless.

And I am at peace.

A/N: I'm going to post a character playlist for each chapter; give you some better insight as to who they are. You of course don't have to listen to them, but I figured they'd be little fun treats for you guys. As always, leave your reviews, you beautiful, amazing people, you! :)

Songs used: Summer Wind, Frank Sinatra

Heaven, Bryan Adams.


	21. Dark Thrones

A/N: Sorry folks – short chapter after a week of waiting. I apologize. Also, there isn't much plot in this one, so I apologize for that too.

* * *

Chapter 21: Dark Thrones

CORA

I'm walking on bronze floors and through stone hallways. There are ornate tapestries on the dark walls; scenes of battles and crownings and beautiful sunsets. I am wearing an elegant white dress with patterns of shining green leaves flowing down from the neckline and waist to the hem. I walk further and further into the hallway and it gets wider and branches off into other paths and rooms. I reach the end, walking underneath the tall arch into a huge chamber, dark but elegant. There are steps to left that lead down a path with a gigantic set of onyx double-doors, inlaid with what looks like silver and gold. In front of me is a solitary black throne, harsh and cold-looking…

No wait, not solitary – there is another throne, a little smaller, but black too; covered with gold floral stems and precious gems. It's…soft, almost.

They're the thrones of a dark king and queen, and this place is their dark palace.

Dark, but…not evil.

I keep walking towards the thrones. I don't know why. People do strange things in dreams, y'know?

The bronze is cool beneath my bare feet. As I walk there, I see shadows move around me; shapes of people, of old memories, and even as I get closer to the thrones, I start to see the shadow of a man in the king's seat. From what little I can make out, he's leaning his head on his chin. I can't see any distinguishable features on his face as I step in front of him.

He really is a shadow.

And the weird thing? I don't see the shadow of his queen seated next to him. He's completely alone. He points with his other hand, and I turn my head to see what I think he's looking at.

I gasp. The area beyond the steep steps is completely filled with shadows. Thousands. No.

_Millions_. I don't know how I didn't notice all of them when I first looked there before, but damn – that's _a lot_ of people. The shadow-king shifts in his seat, and I get this weird urge to sit in the queen's throne beside him.

I _must_ be having a mental breakdown – I'm dreaming about being a queen like a little girl dreams about being a princess. I'm too old for this crap.

But even though my logic says doing it is dumb, my dream makes me do it anyway, and when I sit, the colors become even more shining and saturated than they were before. And when I look out at the crowd, I can see their faces; drawn and sad…and dead?

Because even though I can tell that they're people, they're dark blue and transparent. They look like ghosts.

Sitting in this dark throne adorned with elaborate carvings and etchings, things feel…true. Like I'm supposed to be here.

Like this is _my_ throne.

I look to my left, and my shadow-king has gotten more definition, too. I can see that he's wearing dark blue robes; see that he's got a thick silver ring on his right middle finger; I can even see his silver crown, resting on a head of thick raven-black hair.

I can see all that, but I can't see his face.

Even when he turns to look at me, I can't see his face. Everything is blurry and faded. Then his hand reaches across towards mine, capturing me and holding me in his gaze; and when I start to finally see his features, finally start to see _him_, my dream ends.

It ends because I can feel Hank kissing down my neck, caressing with light touches down the lengths of my sides.

And it's fantastic and wonderful and perfect, but when I open my eyes, see the soft rays of early-morning light coming in through the blinds, I start to cry.

I start to cry, because this is how Leland was. How he used to be.

And all my memories of him are hitting me at once: the good times, the bad times, and the ugly times.

I'm letting this guy into my life – a guy who I like, who it's so easy to be around – but who I don't really _know_.

No matter how much I _feel_ like I know him – like I've _known_ him for _years_ – I _don't_.

I don't know him.

I don't know him and…what if…what if he hurts me? Takes my heart that runs like crazy when I'm with him, and crushes it?

Or worse, what if he hurts _Jim_? Is this guy just using me? Have_ I_ just been using _him_?

He stops, noticing me crying. "What's wrong?" he asks, breathing into my ear. I feel his heavy warmth on me; his hard chest, his protective arms, and that makes everything _worse_…

"Cora." I can see him looking down at me through blurry tears. He's worried; concerned and even cute, and he reminds me of my shadow-king. "Cora, what's wrong?"

What _is_ wrong? I…don't know…

No, that's not true…I _do _know.

"I don't want to get hurt." I don't want you to hurt me.

He gets…sad, I think, leaning back on his haunches. He's straddled over my thighs.

"You think I'll hurt you," he says. I don't think he's really saying it to me; more to himself, and he starts to shake his head. He looks…lost.

I lean back against the pillows, wipe some of the tears still streaming from my eyes. I probably look like a huge mess.

"I'm sorry, Hank," I say, somehow friggin' managing to get past my hitching breath and sobs. "It's…it's just…I've been hurt before. And I don't think I can go through that again." He puts his face in his hands, breathing out. He sounds like he's in pain.

HADES

She does not trust me. After everything, she still does not _trust_ me.

She still does not _know_ me.

And perhaps this is a lingering effect of Aphrodite's spell, because I felt like a dagger has just pierced my chest.

I look at her, weeping and hugging a pillow, and come to realize that this mortal life has truly damaged her.

Damaged her in a way that I may not ever be able to heal.

She is just as broken as I am.

"I'm so-so-sorr-sorry, Hank." She hugs the pillow tighter, breathing in raggedly. I reach out to touch her face, and she flinches.

I will earn her trust.

"Cora," I whisper, getting closer to her. "Cora, I'm not going to hurt you." This time, she allows me to touch her face, and I wipe off the tears streaking down her cheeks with the pads of my thumbs.

She smiles sadly at me. "How can you say that? Can you predict the future, Hank?" The world has been cruel to you, but I will not.

"Somebody told me once," I say, kissing her forehead, "that everybody falls. What matters is whether or not you get back up again." I kiss her cheeks, and her breath hitches again.

"Hank…"

"I'm not going to hurt you, Cora."

CORA

He kisses my lips then, tenderly and softly; and here, surrounded by his smell and his arms, and him, I feel connected to something bigger. Like this is supposed to be, as silly as it sounds. But I'm not ready to let this guy into my heart…

Am I?

After only a week, can I trust him this much? How is it even possible? How is possible to have feelings like this; feelings now that when I think about them, feel like they've always been there, buried and waiting for… him. He keeps kissing me, and I feel him place a gentle hand on my sternum.

"Lie back," he says between a kiss. And I listen, because he's gentle and kind, and _not_ Leland.

He kisses down my neck, running his hands up underneath my nightshirt, caressing my breasts and lifting the shirt up over my head. His kisses leave a hot trail to my chest, on my breasts and I'm pretty sure I'm starting to pant. He curses in Greek when I moan, and I…understand it. I'm pretty sure he says "fuck". "Fuck" or something like it, and groans as he says it. Him and Bobby should have a conversation in Greek. I'd pay to watch that.

And then he keeps going, down towards my stomach, kissing my belly button, before moving even lower. And crap, is that _my_ loud breathing? He gradually pulls off my pajama bottoms, and I see him briefly clutch his thigh with his other hand. Pretty soon my pajama pants are gone, and he's still in his shirt and sweats, and I can _see _him straining against his sweats.

He shuffles back a little bit, leans forward onto his elbows again. What the hell are you trying to do, Hank?

Then he starts kissing the insides of my thighs.

Oh. _That's_ what you're doing. His hands run up the lengths of my thighs, gently but firmly, and his ministrations make me sigh. His kisses move up and down between my thighs, and his hands reach up to my belly, massaging it. His beard is soft beside my skin.

"Hank," I say, somehow managing to form a word through the heavy pleasure built up in my brain. "Hank, you don't have to –"

Then he pulls off my panties, not roughly, but fast – leaving no room for argument.

"I want to, Cora," he says, his breath cool against my overheated core. And then I feel his tongue there, licking me in long, thick strokes and are those stars in front of my eyes?

Then he goes back to kissing the inside of my thighs and I make a frustrated groan because that is _not_ okay. He chuckles when he hears me, and his cool, puffing breaths there send shivers down my spine.

Then he blows softly across my skin before kissing me there again and I dig my fingers into his hair.

"_Hank._" And he keeps himself there, running his hands up my thighs and stomach as I see the occasional involuntary buck of his hips into the bed.

Then he sticks his tongue in, and I'm pretty sure my toes are curling.

"Oh God, what are you _doing _to me, Hank?" When I say it, it's really not that coherent. It comes out in a series of hitched breathes and moans that get louder and louder with each flick of his tongue.

This is the most intimate thing I've ever done with someone. Leland never did _this_.

And here I am, in bed with a man who I've only known for a week, engaged in probably the most intimate thing two people _can_ do.

And I …love it.

I'm starting to feel that pulse; that exquisite fire starting to build up.

"Don't. Don't. St-stop, Hank." Yeah, those words don't come out nearly as coherent as that, either. And then it happens. That explosion, that peak where your vision gets all blurry and you feel like you're floating on a cloud, and even if you cry out like a banshee, you don't care because you've just had the most intense orgasm of your life.

I look up, and as my breathing and heart rate start to go down, I see him hovering above me, smiling softly at me. Smiling beautifully at me.

"You taste magnificent," he says in a light tone.

I laugh, best I can in the breathless state I'm in. "I wouldn't know." My eyelids feel heavy, and he lies next to me, bringing me close to his chest. He kisses my head. "Cora, I'm not… going to hurt you. I need you to know that." His voice is soft and somber, and the rays of sunlight coming in through the blinds are bright. I lay my head on his chest, nodding.

"What time is it?" I ask after a few minutes. I feel so safe here.

"7:30," he answers.

I snuggle closer and his arms wrap around me tightly.

"I was thinking about taking Jim out today," he says, nonchalantly.

I smile. "You guys are getting along, huh."

"For the most part," he says, hugging me closer. He hears me yawn, and he kisses the top of my head. "You need your space," he whispers. "Him and I will go out and –"

"Do man-things?"

He chuckles. "Exactly." My eyes start to close. "That's cool. Rachel invited me to have lunch with her around 2:00-" I yawn, not finishing my sentence.

His strong arms hold me around my waist. "Sleep, Cora," he says. "I'll be right here..." And so I sleep, and when I do, I see my-shadow king, seated on a throne of dark stone, say to me through his icy-blue eyes, "I will never hurt you."

They're the only things I can see on his face.

And because of those eyes, I believe him.

I believe him because they're Hank's eyes.

And even as the palace begins to crumble around us, his hand is holding mine and his eyes are locked right onto mine.

In this dream, I know we'll protect each other.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for slow updates. I'll do better.


	22. Training - Day 1

Chapter 22: Training - Day 1

JIM

I don't think I've ever slept so much in my whole fucking life. I mean, shit – I've probably slept for like 20 fuckin' hours now. And I just wanna keep sleepin', coz here I'm safe and warm.

But I guess my supernatural cat ain't gonna have none of that, 'coz he's decided to jump on my chest.

"Get the fuck outta here, cat –I'm tryin' to sleep," I groan, pulling the covers over my face.

"You've slept enough, Jim." It's not my cat that says those words.

It's Hades.

I peek my head out from underneath the covers, and he's all dressed and ready to go, in his black collared shirt and jeans.

"Time is it?" I ask, and damn, my voice is raspy.

He leans back against the wall, crossing his arms and smirking at me. "It's 2:30, Jim. Your mother is out with a friend. Today is a perfect day to train." What the fuck?

"Train?" He nods, pulling something out from a bag. It looks like a sword. Then he fucking _tosses_ it towards me, and I almost fucking piss myself because it lands right on my _stomach_.

Shut up.

"The fuck, man?! You coulda killed me!" He starts laughing, and then I get a good look at the sword, and it's wood. Fucking _wood_.

It's heavy and strong looking, like it's made from oak or somethin'.

"It's only wood," he says, and I can hear a little lilt in his voice. Tossing a sword at me and making me freak out ain't funny, man. Still, though, I start to laugh, and he tosses clothes on me, too, and then we're both laughing even more.

"You are such an ass, man." Insulting a god ain't smart, but he just chuckles, 'coz I guess he knows I don't mean anything by it.

"I've been called worse," he jokes, limping back to the door; he tosses a me a backpack, and _that_ lands on my head. "Get dressed," I hear him snort. Alright, Mr. Death-King.

"Don't forget the sword," he says before closing the door. Well, okay.

I guess I'm gonna learn how to use a fucking sword today. _And possibly more than that, if you are quick, James. _Fuuuuuck, you're not coming too, are you? _But of course; that is what the bag is for. And your practice sword of course._

Gods dammit.

* * *

"So, we goin' downtown or to the city?" I ask him, looking out the window of his car. Folkvarthr is on my lap, his head poking out of the backpack Hades has given me.

Have I told you that my life has gotten really fuckin' weird lately? Because it fuckin' has.

"What's the difference?" he asks, turning right.

I grin, scratch Folkvarthr's ears – 'coz no matter how tough this kitten thinks he is, he's still a _kitten – _and say, "If you're gonna be livin' in Brooklyn, you're gonna have to learn the lingo."

He raises an eyebrow, just one, and I try to copy him. I've always wanted to be able to do that.

"'Lingo'?" he asks, and he raises his eyebrow even higher, and I can't copy him anymore, and I think he knows it too, 'coz I see him grinnin'.

"Yeah," I say, scratching underneath Folkvarthr's chin. This cat thinks he's such a badass. "Like, "downtown" is downtown Brooklyn; where like Court Street is – you ever heard of Court Street?"

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the road. Makes sense – why would he fuckin' know about Court Street? "Well anyways, that's what "downtown" is. When you're goin' to Manhattan, you're going to "the city", y'know?"

He nods. "We're not going to either of those places," he says. "…Are there any more of these…Ah…" He doesn't know the word.

But I fuckin' do. "Colloquialisms? Yeah, a shit-ton. This is fuckin' New York." The greatest city in the history of the world – fuck Rome, fuck Chicago, fuck London – New York is _the _city. _You're arrogant, James_. I scratch Folkvarthr's ears again. I'm an American, cat. We're all like that.

We come to a red light…

"So, where are we goin' anyway?"

He looks at me, smirks a little. "You'll see. In the meantime, tell me …more of these Brooklyn colloquialisms so I may learn the 'lingo'."

My grin gets bigger. "K, sure thing. Uh, lemme think…there's "wallear," which means…like… you really want somethin'. Like, I could say I have a bad wallear for a slice of pizza right now."

"Wa Lee Ah," he says, tryin' to copy my Brooklyn accent. It ain't _that_ thick, man.

"Yeah, it sorta sounds like that."

He shakes his head, smiling. "Wa Lee Ah. Tell me another."

So I do; I tell 'im a bunch, like 'putz' and and 'skeeve' and hell, I even tell 'im 'fuggedaboudit', just so I can hear him _try_ to say it.

We're in Red Hook. It's pretty ghetto; not as ghetto as the worst parts of Bed Stuy, where the Black Bullets and Second Sons like to have turf wars, but still pretty ghetto. And he's driving his expensive car, not giving a fuck. He stops by an old dock; looks like city workers were tryin' to repair it, but it's got graffiti covering its walls and on the floor, and, well... this place is royally fucked-looking. Actually, it looks a lot like Alex and the guys' warehouse. Our hangout.

"Hey, I don't think this place is very safe, man."

He shakes his head. "There's nobody else here. Trust me." How the fuck does he know that?

Oh wait.

He's a god.

He steps out of the car, leaning heavy on his cane. I get out too, taking the backpack and Folkvarthr out with me. I need to call Viola.

"Hey um…Hades?" This is so fuckin' weird – talking to a god on a first-name basis.

He turns around. "Yes, Jim?"

"Um…may I call my…" What do I call her? My bestfriend? My girlfriend? We kissed, we held hands.

I'll call her my girlfriend.

"….Girlfriend? I was supposed to call her yesterday…"

I'm shuffling on my feet, and his lips turn up slightly. "Yes, you may," he says, holding out his phone in his hand.

Awww yeeeeaah. "Cool!" I start to run up to him, leaving my backpack on the ground, and just when I think he's about to hand me the phone, he swipes it from my grasp.

The fuck, man?

"That is, of course, after you are done training." _Seriously_?

"Aww, c'mon, Hades. She'll be mad at me-" He shakes his head, smirking.

"You can call her later, Jimbo."

I frown. "I don't remember ever saying that you could call me that."

He crosses his arms, cocks his head to the side and grins. "So? I'm a god. What you say or want doesn't matter to me in the slightest." And then he winks at me, says, "Jimbo."

"Well, if all gods are like you, then you guys fucking _suck_."

He shrugs. "You're angry with me. That's fine. Pick up your sword and impress me, demigod." No shit I'm angry with you.

Fuck, man – I thought we were getting along. "I don't see the point of all this shit," I mutter, walking back towards my backpack. Folkvarthr is sitting right beside it now. Fucking Cripple King of the Underworld. _Be careful, James. Master Plouton is not known for going easy on his opponents, even in sparring. Do not let his injury fool you; he is still very powerful. _Yeah, tell me something I don't know, cat. _He made love to your mother this morning. OKAY_, that is **_NOT_** what I meant, Folkvarthr. Oh my God – I'm going to need fucking _brain bleach_ now. Jesus Christ, never fucking tell me that again, cat. Fucking ever – you got that? I mean, **_fuck_**_; _I **_don't_** need to know that shit, man. _You said to tell you something you didn't know. _Folkvarthr, for the love of God and all that is holy – _shut_ the _fuck_ up. _Fine._ He hisses, gets up and walks to who knows where. Fucking cat.

"We don't have all day, Jim." I look back at Hades, and man, he's _really_ favoring his good leg. How is this even gonna _work_?

"Okay, okay, hang on." I pull out the wooden sword; really take in its form for the first time. It's got a slightly curved leaf-shape, with writings in Ancient Greek curving along the edges. It's heavy, and the handle is shaped in a way that I can only grip it with one hand. And this time, it'll be my right hand; because it's healed, like the big cut on my face, leaving only a faded white line near the top of my temple. God food does wonders, doesn't it?

I turn, face him. We're about 20 feet apart. "Now what?" I ask, holding the wooden sword at my side.

He smirks. "Attack me."

"What." It's a flat what.

He laughs a little, then he gets suddenly serious. His brows furrow, and I can feel his power that he usually keeps in check start to come through whatever shield he's got it under. And his eyes look cold.

Cold and cruel.

"Attack me, Jim." He's not doing anything, but I can feel the world around me start to get cold; _freezing_, and something in me snaps – and I rush towards him with a speed that I never even knew I could reach, and I swing the wooden sword, fast and hard, in an arch down towards his face.

And when he blocks it with his cane – blocks it like it's fucking _nothing_ – I feel the force of the impact go through my arm. It hurts, but…

I can keep going.

So I do; running on instinct and trigger-reflexes. And he's fucking_ fast _– unbelievably fast, even with his bum leg. I can't make out any of his movements, he's so fast.

I just try my best to hit where I think he's gonna be. And then pretty soon _I'm_ the one who has to defend_ his_ attacks, and that cane is fucking deadly. He doesn't use it like a sword, either; he uses it like a fucking staff, twirling it and hitting my stomach lightly every time I miss a block.

Which ends up happening a lot. I'm pretty sure he's pulling his strength at the last second so he doesn't fucking kill me.

"Why," I say, blocking a blow heading straight to my temple, "are we," I step forward, dodge a strike, try to roundhouse him, but he hits my shin and that fucking _hurts,_ so when I say these next words, my voice comes out raspy and strained, "doing _this _shit?"

He swings hard at me, and when I block, my arm feels like it's gonna break. I'm starting to get backed up toward the end of the pier. I gotta push forward, or I'm gonna end up in nastyass water. And I don't think dear old Hades would care if that's the consequence, so yeah – I need to get this turned around.

"This is a world filled with monsters and gods and demigods. You need to learn how to properly defend yourself." Shit, man. This guy ain't even breaking a fucking sweat. _And_ he's _lying_ to me. I can fucking tell. There's somethin' more to this shit than what he's telling me.

We keep going like this for hours, and the sun starts to get low in the sky. We're fighters; dancing in a ring surrounded by water and trash and graffiti, footwork based on instinct, strength in blows that make cracking sounds almost as loud as thunder. I'm sweating and breathing hard, and my arms and chest and legs are fucking aching somethin' fierce, but…

Man, this shit is _fun_. Kinda like playing a violent version of catch with your old man.

Like, you're in competition, but it's a _fun_ competition.

For the most part, anyway.

And the thing is…I want to impress this guy.

So I'll impress him by beating the hell out of him. Hey, I _said _that it's violent.

So we keep at it, and the sun gets even lower in the sky, and I know that my shirt is fucking soaked through with sweat. And now, at the corners of his temples I can see him starting to sweat, too; his breathing is beginning to get ragged, and he throws one final attack with his cane; his hardest one yet, and when I block it, the concrete beneath my feet cracks and there's a new pothole at this old abandoned dock. He brings his cane down, leans on it heavily, uses his other hand to clutch his thigh and he looks like he's in _major _fucking pain.

"I think…I think that's enough for today, Jimbo." Man, he's got his eyes screwed shut, and he's got a death-grip on his thigh.

Did he push through all that pain in his leg for _that _many hours?

_Holy fucking shit_.

He _did_.

Folkvarthr shows up now, too. _I've been watching you two the entire time, James. _ Freaky cat.

He's breathing out hard from his nose, still with that death-grip on his thigh. There ain't no way he's gonna be able to walk back to the car.

I put down the sword, walk up to him, wordlessly getting underneath his shoulder and helping him balance his weight.

"Jim, what're you-" I take his cane from his hands, not saying a word. Guys have pride. Gods have more. I ain't gonna take away his dignity.

I'm just gonna help him out, because he needs it.

So I walk him towards the car, and he hops on his good leg on the way there. He can't put any weight on his other leg at all. I try to take him to the driver's side, but he shakes his head.

"I can't drive," he says, almost chuckling, but it's a pained laugh. He pulls his keys out of his back pocket, hands them to me.

"You're kidding," I say. I open the passenger door, and he sits down, closing his eyes in relief.

"No, I'm not kidding."

"You're going to let me drive." Holy shit.

He nods fast, and I can tell he's still in agony. I grab my backpack and put the wooden sword in it, along with Folkvarthr, and I hand him his cane, and he leans his head back against the head rest.

He's mumbling something in Ancient Greek. I think he's talking to the car. Saying something like, "Don't let him crash," or some shit. So the car is magical, too. Fucking great. _This is his chariot. He was speaking to his horses_, Folkvarthr says. Well, okay. This ain't the weirdest thing I've had to deal with in my life, so yeah.

Magical chariot horses that look like a Ferrari. Okay.

I get in the car, turn on the radio, and the music that plays as we drive – as _I_ drive – is from the Foo Fighters all the way to Foster the People.

And hey, I don't like to brag, but I'm a pretty good driver, too.

So it's pretty amazing that I get to drive this awesome fuckin' car. Er, chariot.

Hades keeps leaning back against the passenger seat; hand still in a death-grip around his thigh.

"You did very well today," he says in a low voice. And I'm not gonna lie; it kinda makes me feel good to hear him say that.

Okay, it makes me feel _really_ good. Shut up.

"…Thanks," I say, keeping my eyes on the road. Folkvarthr is curled up on his lap. _You did do well today, James._

We come to a stop. "And you're not a bad driver," he says, and I can hear the approving tone in his voice, and …well, that blows up my ego even more.

"You know if we get pulled over, you'll get ticketed 'coz I don't have a permit."

He shrugs, a pained laugh coming out of his mouth. "Money is not something I worry about, Jimbo. Especially mortal money."

"So what do you worry about?" I ask him. I can see him swallow hard from the corner of my eye.

"Many other things," he says. Vague answers, ahoy.

The light turns green, and I can feel the wheel pumping beneath my fingers, almost like it has a heartbeat. The street is clear in front of us, which is fucking _weird_ for New York. It looks like it goes on for miles and miles, and I can see a clear path to the brownstone, through interweaving streets and avenues. And it's hard to explain, but I just see it – this clear path, with no pedestrians or cars, going through Red Hook and neighborhood upon neighborhood until it reaches Park Slope, and I see his house there, clear as day. No obstacles in a winding pathway, almost glowing; looking like it's the road meant to be taken, narrow and wide at the same time.

And so, as usual, I do somethin' stupid.

I fucking _floor_ it.

I floor it, and distantly I hear Hades yell in surprise, but I know where I'm going. The car and me – the horses – we're a team. We won't crash each other.

And hell, I may have surprised Hades, but he seems to be enjoying it. It's Folkvarthr who's freaking out, hissing and arching his back. Good.

I'm pretty sure I run past red lights and I can hear police sirens somewhere far behind me, but honestly –

I'm going too fuckin' fast for them to catch up. The speedometer keeps rising and rising; going from 192 miles per hour, to 250 miles per hour, to _380 miles per hour_. And the entire time, I feel the strength of the car; the chariot horses, their guidance; see the clear path, and I roll down both windows, scream out of them like a madman, and Hades does too - does it laughing, despite his pain.

The lights of city buildings flash past us in blurs of white and purples and reds and blues, and it gets me thinkin' about things that I wish would just stay buried.

"I wish my dad could see me now," I say. It just comes out; awkward things like that always do when I think about this stuff, and the electric sound of M83's _Midnight City_ gives the whole speeding through the city at 380 miles per hour an eerie feeling.

"He'd be very proud of you," Hades says, softly, looking straight ahead at our clear path. And I can't help it; I start to tear up, okay. _Shut up!_ It fucking _hurts_, alright. It's hurt for _so_ long.

Tears blur at the edges of my eyes, but I won't let them fall. Not this time.

"Haha, you think so?" Flashing lights and city sounds. We're getting close to the brownstone; I can _see_ it.

"Most definitely," he says, and he sounds like he wants to say somethin' more, but he doesn't, and what's left unsaid is hanging in the air.

And I keep drivin' and drivin', and when we reach the brownstone, I stop, and the lights of buildings don't flash past us anymore, and I can suddenly see people; people still out on the streets, 'coz it's only 7:30; see their cars, and I wonder – just what the hell was_ that_? What the hell just happened? The path, and the driving and the no-pedestrian or car filled-streets?

I park outside his brownstone, and the pulsing in the steering wheel of the car has stopped. Huh. I guess the horses needed to be taken out or somethin'. Hades holds the backpack, and Folkvarthr jumps off his lap and onto the sidewalk curb. I warp my arm around his waist, holding his cane in my other hand, helping him to the stoop in front of the brownstone.

Before we get to the door, my mom comes out, looking happy at first, but then concerned when she sees him; sees him in pain, and unable to walk.

She rushes down to us from the steps, puts her arm around his other side, and we both help him up the steps and into the brownstone. He quickly hands me his cellphone while my mom takes up the other side. Now I can call Viola.

"You guys smell like you both just came back from the gym," she says, wrinkling her nose, and Hades laughs, kisses her cheek.

"Smell of a man, my lady," he jokes, but it comes out rough, 'coz he puts just the barest bit of weight on his leg as we sit him on the couch. _Get him some ambrosia_, I hear Folkvarthr say in my mind, meowing.

"There you are, Hades!" I guess my mom must have been looking for my cat. She picks Folkvarthr up, takes him into the kitchen, and while she does that, I get Hades some ambrosia. And fuck it – a whole damn bottle of nectar, too.

I bring it to him, and he almost downs the entire bottle in one gulp. Damn, man. He eats the ambrosia a little slower.

"We train again tomorrow," he says, taking a small bite of ambrosia.

I sit down next to him. "Uh…you sure about that?"

He nods, looking at me. "After you are done with your studies, I will teach you how to use the blade. Properly." Well, shit. This training is really fucking important, apparently. _Indeed it is, James. _Folkvarthr, man. We need to talk about you interrupting my thoughts.

Then he leans his head back, shuts his eyes. "You did good today, Jimbo. Call her." There's a slight smile on his lips, but his eyes are still shut.

And I do; I take a shower downstairs, brush my teeth, go into the guest room, and I call her.

And it doesn't take her long to answer.

"_Jim_."

And you know what? Things are starting to feel _really_ good around here.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter, Cora and Rachel girl time, and other stuff, like plot. Leave your comments, as always. :) Also, playlists - they'll be comin' soon. :)


	23. Lunch With a Friend

A/N: First of all, I'd like to apologize to all of you for my late update. Last weekend I was in the Midwest, with no real access to my computer. Unfortunately, this chapter is very short. I know, I know – I make you wait two weeks, and give you a short chapter. I will try to get another update done by this Thursday, so keep your eyes out for that.

* * *

Chapter 23: Lunch With a Friend

CORA

When I wake up again, he's not there, but I'm still surrounded by his smell; earthy and masculine. I wish he _was_ here. I get up, get dressed and head out, taking the subway; picking up the extra key to the house Hank left on the countertop. I get to pick up my car tomorrow, so that'll be nice. I won't have to worry about being late for class, or picking up Jim. I call Rachel around 2:00, meet up with her at a Vietnamese restaurant called Miss Saigon's. The food here is pretty good, but I order a small bowl of noodle soup. I'm not very hungry.

"So," Rachel says, wiggling her eyebrows at me as she takes a sip from her strawberry lemonade.

"So what?" I ask, but I know what she wants.

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. Typical Rach, man, I'm telling you. "So, how was _it_?"

I take a sip from my Arnold Palmer tea and giggle a little bit. "Didn't you already ask me that, Rach? It was…nice. I told you already."

"Nuh-uh, I want details, gurl."

"Don't be such a perv, Rach."

She whines, flashing her puppy-dog-eyes at me. Dammit, Rach. "Whaddya want to know?"

She raises an eyebrow and grins, and crap – these questions aren't going to be easy. "Well, first off – since it's been botherin' me since I first saw him – how big is he?"

"Oh _God_, Rach! C'mon, you don't _totally_ want to know that!" My face feels really, really hot.

She takes a sip from her lemonade. "Yeah, chica – I totally do."

"You're a total perv. Next you're gonna be asking me if he's cut or not."

"Is he?"

"_Rachel!_"

The waiter brings us our food, and my face is probably as bright as a tomato.

Rachel pouts. "C'mon, don't hold out on me girl – _I_ told you Bobby's size and everything."

"Yeah, but I didn't_ ask_ you to."

She crosses her arms and sticks out her lower lip, pouting even more, but her eyes are smiling. I can't win.

"He's perfect," is all I say, stone-faced. She won't get the details on Hank, 'coz I'm pretty sure he'd be _embarrassed _if I said anything more about him like this. And really, he _is_ perfect – I hadn't had sex for…damn, for _years_, until I was with Hank this weekend, and even though I wanted it – even though my heart was _pounding _for it – I was a little afraid of how, well, _big _he was going to be. He definitely wasn't small, but he wasn't ridiculously gigantic, either. I always laugh when I read those Anita Blake novels, and the guy is always super hung – to the point where he bumps the cervix. The author must be a masochist, because that _hurts_. No, he was perfectly proportioned to the rest of him.

He was perfect for me.

"Cut or uncut?" she asks.

"Rachel, c'mon."

"Well?"

I frown. "Rachel." He's not circumcised; which, when I think about it now, may be part of the reason he's _so_ sensitive. But there's no way she's ever gonna learn that.

"Fine, fine. I won't ask any more questions about your man's tool."

I cross myself, laughing. "Thank God."

She leans closer to me, winking. "But, could you tell me anything more about him? Does he have a nice ass? Wait, no never mind – I know that already. He does. Hmmm….does he have any more sexy scars?"

I nod, taking another sip from my tea. "I wouldn't call them "sexy" Rach, but yeah – he does."

She takes a bite of her spicy chicken dish. "Spill it, chica."

So I tell her; tell her about his scars: the one on his side, discolored, reminding me a of burn; and the one on his thigh, sliced and gnarled-looking. A part of me wants to know where he got them. Another part of me is afraid to hear the story.

"Where'd hell he get scars like that?" she asks.

"I dunno, Rach." I don't wanna know.

"You should ask him." We keep eating, and I tell Rachel that we should film Hank and Bobby speaking Greek.

"Fuck yes!" she yells, almost doing her trademark banshee-scream. "I'll tell Bobby; I'm _so_ bringing a camera."

I smile. "Oh hell yeah." Something catches my eye behind her, and I see a guy staring at us. He's young; probably in his twenty's, clean shaven, with impossibly black hair. He's got very angular features, and dark circles under his eyes. For a second, I think he's wearing guyliner – y'know, going for that "rocker" look – but, no, they're real raccoon circles, and he's got violet – almost red – eyes. He's… beautiful. In a way, he sort of reminds me of Hank – his dark hair, light eyes…and then he sneers at me, looking like he's trying to smile, but it comes out wrong; jaded and crooked…and deep down in my gut, something tells me that this guy is dangerous. I give Rachel the "We-need-to-get-the-hell-out-of-here-because-there's-a-creepy-weirdo-staring-at-us" look, and she takes the hint, discretely getting a look at the guy while pretending to fix her hair with her mirror. She nods, asks for the check and we leave.

We talk as we walk to her car; about school and work, and Bobby and Hank and Jim. We talk, and we laugh, and it's good being around Rachel.

She tells me that if she ever gets pregnant, she wants a girl. I tell her that I'll keep my fingers crossed. We go around town for a bit and driving in her car is a welcome reprieve from taking the subway. We do some window shopping, and she asks me, "When are you gettin' your car back?"

"Tomorrow."

"I _told_ you those guys take forever, Cora."

I shrug, looking at a few blouses on a hangar at H&M. I could never afford to shop here, but pretending I can is nice sometimes. "They were the cheapest, what can I say?"

"You get what you pay for, chica." Yeah, yeah, Rach – I know. We keep shopping, and Rachel buys a cute pair of gold-plated earrings for herself from one of the stores for around $40. Expensive, but she likes to treat herself once and a while. We pass by an old smoke shop, and the pipes on the window display remind me of my dad.

"Cheer up, chica," Rachel says. I guess I look sad. I remember sitting on my dad's lap, breathing in his smoky scent when he puffed out from his pipe. He was 29 when he met my mom, four years after the Vietnam War ended. He would always tell me the story of how he met her; he was buying flowers for my grandma, Lucia – it was Mother's Day – and he didn't have enough change. And then my mom just sort of appeared, almost magically – and he would always tell me that he fell in love with her right there – and paid for the flowers. They dated, and a little over a year later, I was born. "One night," my dad would say, "your mom had to go away."

And I would always ask, "Why?"

And then he would smile, almost wistfully. This was my favorite part of the story. "Because, my jellybean, she's a goddess."

"What does that make me, Papa?"

Then he'd lift me up, kiss each of my cheeks. "That makes you _my_ little goddess." His gray fluffy beard would scratch my face, and that always made me laugh. Whenever he _did_ shave, I'd go with him; try to copy him, putting the shaving cream on my face. My dad told me that when I was _really_ little, just learning how to talk, I would call the stuff "shaboom". Embarrassing, yeah. Even though he was young, he started going gray pretty fast; in my clearest memories of him, he has a head of silver. I guess to match his silver eyes. For all his grayness, though, my dad was a handsome guy – it always made me sad when he would say I looked more like my mom.

He never told me her name; even when he was dying from cancer at the hospital, and Grandma Luci was there, hugging me and holding me, he never told me her name.

"Just remember, jellybean – your momma's a goddess." He said the words with a smile on his face, and he died, just like that. He survived bombings and bullets and the Viet Cong, only to be taken out by _lung cancer_. My mother didn't even go to the funeral, but by then, even at eight, I had outgrown my dad's stories about her. She _left_ us; how could I expect her to show up to his funeral? It was a rainy day, too; cold and windy. I remember the burning incense in the church, the eerie chanting of the choir before his coffin was taken to the cemetery; the final words of the priest:

"May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace."

Grandma Luci could never get me to go to church after that. And then, in her old age, when Jim was around two, she died too…

That's weird…my hand hurts. I blink a few times, realizing that I've had my hands clenched at my sides, staring at the pipes on display.

That's something I forgot to mention –

I _hate_ smoking. I hate _everything_ about it.

"C'mon, chica, let's go." She's got her hands on my shoulders, and I can see her worried look reflect in the glass of the window.

I nod. "Let's."

As we walk past stores and into a street fair, I get a weird tingling sensation at the back of my neck…I feel like someone is following us. I look behind me, and sure enough, there's the guy with the violet eyes. Rachel's looking a print of Van Gogh's _Starry Night_ when I grab her arm and roughly; pulling her behind the booth.

"The hell is your problem, girl?" She rubs her arm, where I gripped her. "I think you gave me a bruise."

I put my finger to my lips, silently telling her to be quiet, and then I whisper, "Sorry. That creepy guy from the restaurant followed us."

Her eyes widen in surprise. "You _serious?_"

"Shhhh. Yeah, Rach." I bet you're wondering, why should be quiet? You're right – there's plenty of people around us – it's a street fair – but I don't know...

My gut is telling me we need to be quiet.

I follow my gut.

I peek out from behind the booth, and his eyes lock with mine for a brief second. I mean, it _has_ to be a brief second – how can it be any more than that? But it feels _so_ much longer.

I'm walking through the stone hallways of the dark palace of my dreams again, taking unsure footsteps towards the sound of tortured screams.

An inhuman voice fills my mind as I walk. _Do you hear Plouton's screams, Your Highness? _

I hear _someone's_ screams, that's for damn sure. They pierce the walls, rumble the floor, and I almost fall. _He **thinks** he knows pain. He is **greatly** mistaken. He __**will**__ know pain – Our Lady will make **sure** of that. He will know pain, and you will watch him suffer and __**finally**__ break, and the Aether Soul will be __**ours**__._

Well, _I'm_ definitely breaking. Hallucinating about walking through a dark palace in the middle of the day, with an evil voice spewing depressing stuff into my brain. I need a therapist. I keep walking, until I come to a set of large double doors. Somehow, I manage to push them open and…

The world fades, and I'm back in the present; hearing a guy screaming and a cat hissing. The creepy guy from the restaurant is clutching his groin, and he's on the ground curled up in the fetal position. People are shrieking, and I hear the hisses of cats everywhere.

"_Somebody get that cat_!"

"Which one?!"

"The black one!"

"_Which one_?!"

The street fair is in total chaos now; there are dozens – hundreds? – of stray cats scratching at people…and in all that chaos, they somehow manage to clear a path…

…straight back to Rachel's car. I grab Rachel's hand, and we run – and we run _fast_. The whole time, I can feel Creepy Guy's violet eyes burning into my back, but even though the cats parted like the Red Sea for us, the path we took to get to Rachel's car is blocked behind us. I take one last look at the guy, who sneers at me again, cupping his groin and I flip him off.

Creepy asshole.

"What the hell was that all about?" Rachel asks, and her hands are shaking on the wheel. "I fucking _hate _cats. There were so many of them – and did you see that one attack the creepy guy? Just sliced him, right in the jewels, and then it fricking _bit_ him there, too." She shudders, breathing out heavily. "I hate cats."

I nod, twisting the handle of my purse. "I don't like them much either…but Jim does."

Rachel shakes her head, wiping her forehead as we come to a red light. "My nana always told me that they bring bad luck – especially the black ones. Bad spirits and all that shizz."

I laugh, rolling my eyes; trying to act nonchalant, and failing spectacularly. "You don't really believe that stuff, do you Rach?"

"I never used to, but after _today..._ I might. I mean, you saw them, didn't you chica? There was one, and then right smack outta the blue, there were dozens – hell, _hundreds_ – a whole cat _army_, right in the middle of the street fair; looking like they just popped out of the ground like _daisies _or something! God, I **_hate_** cats." She sneezes, wiping her watery eyes. "And now my allergies are going to kill me for the next few days. Hey, do you need my phone to call the cops? That guy really seemed to creep you out."

I shake my head, pulling out my cell phone. I dial 911, and after a few seconds, a woman answers.

"911, what is your emergency?" We keep on driving, through downtown and into Park Slope.

I tell the operator about Creepy Guy.

"Ma'am, this is not an emergency. You may only use 911 for emergencies."

"Sorry? This guy followed my friend and me all day. And my apartment building was just burned by arsonists – maybe this guy is connected."

"You're speculating, ma'am. Again, this is not an emergency."

Okay, dammit, it's not an emergency. "Yeah, but I don't feel safe. My home gets set on fire, and when I go out with a friend, we get _stalked_. You see where I'm coming from?"

"Ma'am, I understand your anxiety, but again this is not an emergency. If you had any sort of information on this man – like a name or a license plate, we could dispatch an officer to give him a warning. As it is, there is nothing we can do."

We're in Hank's neighborhood now. "Nothing at all?"

"Nothing, ma'am. I apologize."

I sigh. "Thanks for your help, officer." I hang up the phone. "Well, that was shit," I say, rubbing my temples.

"That bad, chica? Hey, this the place?" She points to a brownstone on the corner.

"Yeah, that bad. And yeah – that's the place."

She whistles. "Rich, handsome _and _sensitive. Can we trade boyfriends?" I laugh. "Boyfriend" doesn't seem like the right word to describe him. What _is_ Hank to me? A friend? A lover?

Both?

"No way," I say, giggling. "He's all mine."

"Only 'coz he can't run away very fast." Rachel, I love you, but that was mean.

I frown, stepping out of the car. "Too far?" she asks, still joking.

"Yeah, Rach." Seriously – that was not okay.

"Sorry, chica." She hugs me, kisses my cheeks, and I smile, despite myself. She waves, getting in the car.

"Hey, you better come to work next Saturday! I don't care how tired you are from hot morning sex!"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Shout it to the whole neighborhood, will you?!" Damn, that was the _wrong_ thing to say.

"Will do, you sexy bitch, you!" She winks at me, and blasts down the drive, screaming, "Cora and Hank have hot morning sex every day!" Every day? Jesus, Rach – I've only been living with the guy for _two_ days. Hell, not even that.

I shake my head, laugh; using the spare key to open the door. My phone rings as I step into the house, and I don't recognize the number.

"…Hello?"

It's a guy who answers.

"Yeah, uh…Is this Jim's mom?" He sounds young; probably a teenager.

I can feel myself frowning. I don't trust this voice. "That depends. Who's this?"

"Uh. My name's…AJ. Can you tell Jim that I called? He knows my number." AJ? That doesn't sound familiar. Then again, all of Jim's old guy friends were gone with the move…

What if _this_ guy is a gangbanger?

"Sure," I say. I'm going to have to speak with Jim about who this AJ kid is. I don't trust him. But "AJ" doesn't have to know that.

"Thanks." He hangs up, and the clock on my phone says that it's almost 6:00. My stomach growls. The guys aren't home yet.

Woah, did I just say "home"? Scratch that – the guys aren't _here_ yet, and I'm tired of eating out. I go to the fridge, take out the stuffed salmon and ingredients for nopale salad that I bought yesterday. This'll be good.

* * *

A/N: Look, a character playlist…Forgive me? :(

Hades playlist:

Happy Together – Filter

Sail - AWOLNATION

The Scientist - Coldplay

Mr. Brightside - The Killers

This Night – Black Lab

Weightless – Black Lab

Armistice – Patrick Wolf

Meant to Live - Switchfoot

Calling You – Blue October

Hurt – Nine Inch Nails

We're In This Together – Nine Inch Nails

Listen (listen, listen) – Wintersleep

Shelter from the Storm - Bob Dylan

Dani California - Red Hot Chili Peppers

Runaway - The National

Ghost of You – My Chemical Romance

You Can't Always Get What You Want – The Rolling Stones

The Trooper – Iron Maiden

Cells – The Servant

Let the Drummer Kick – Citizen Cope

In the End – Linkin Park


	24. I think I might have inhaled you

Chapter 24: I think I might have inhaled you

HADES

As I am led into the brownstone, the smell of spices and the ocean fill my nose. Cora is cooking fish, I think. Jim takes me to the couch, helping me sit down. My thigh is throbbing, and my fists are clenched uncomfortably tight. The boy hands me a small piece of ambrosia, and it brings small, but immediate relief.

The boy disappears into the downstairs restroom; to take a shower, I presume. I hear Cora in the kitchen, and a part of me feels annoyed at this forced _domesticity_.

Another part of me somewhat…enjoys it.

I shut my eyes, leaning my head back against the leather of the couch; breathing in deeply and exhaling slowly, willing myself to relax. There is a sound of a meow to my left, and I slightly open my eyes, looking at Folkvarthr. Strange…he has a piece of parchment held in his mouth.

"What now?"

He drops the parchment from his mouth, and it falls onto my leg. _Do you always ignore sealed letters from the Dream King, Master Plouton?_ Ah, Morpheus' letter. I had…forgotten about it. _And keep your desk sealed, Master Plouton; lest you want your lover to learn the truth before she is ready. Keeping the ambrosia and nectar out in the open was not wise, either. _Thank you, Folkvarthr, for lecturing me. Now leave.

The animal hisses, jumping off of the couch and heading back into the kitchen. I rub my eyes, moving to break the wax seal on the letter. The seal breaks, and sand explodes onto my lap and face.

I fall into the land of dreams.

I sit up from a patch of soft moss in a glade; there is little light, but I can clearly hear and see the sounds and sights of the forest.

Morpheus is at the edge of the glade, looking out at the midnight-blue sky and its numerous stars. He stretches his great black wings, sighs. His mane of glowing white hair flows in the soft breeze.

"Morpheus," I say, and my words sound distant – a far off echo.

"You took a while to open the letter, Rich One. I was beginning to think that my presence was no longer wanted or needed." He looks back at me, shining black eyes imperceptible as always. "You should dream of this place more often. It's rather soothing."

"Where are we, Dream King?"

He shakes his head, stretching his wings and looking back at the stars. "In my realm, of course. But as for the location of this dream – this memory – I haven't the slightest idea. I find it interesting that you would choose for us to meet here." I stand, and there is no pain in my leg.

I walk to Morpheus without struggle. When I reach him, he turns; looks at me. "You wished my counsel, and I offer it, Rich One. Speak of what troubles you."

I nod, looking with awe at the numerous stars in the sky; telling Morpheus of everything Folkvarthr has told me; and of Dionysus' death and…of my dreams. He listens, never once asking me a question, until:

"And what do you expect me to do, Rich One?"

I turn my head, locking my eyes with his. "Relief, Morpheus. Any sort of relief from my nightmares. These new gods…they… taunt…me. My father does not allow me to rest."

He shakes his head, and I feel anger begin to pulse in my veins. "There is nothing I can do, Rich One."

"Nothing? You did not help me when I suffered with my curse, and you will not help me now – _why_?"

Morpheus purses his lips. "Your curse all those many years ago kept you firmly out of my power, Rich One. What you suffer now is of your _own_ doing, and I cannot change it."

I frown. "My own doing?"

"Indeed, Rich One. You punish yourself. It is your own self-hatred and guilt that allows these new gods to enter your dreams. You give them easy access. You flog yourself in self-punishment, Rich One."

I sit, hanging my legs over the edge of the mossy cliff. "Am I yet again seeking forgiveness, Morpheus?" Fireflies light up and dance around me.

With each movement Morpheus makes, clouds of mist appear at his feet. "Perhaps you are seeking your queen's forgiveness. But, perhaps, it is_ you_ who needs forgive yourself."

I look down, towards the other trees in the forest. "And what of the boy, Dream King? You have known of other gods since the beginning of your existence; what can you tell me of this 'Aether Soul'? Why do we share dreams?"

He shrugs, sitting down next to me. "Connection, perhaps; I am not entirely sure. I cannot tell you much more than what the animal Folkvarthr has already told you. For all my curiosity, I never had much time to learn more about the Aether Soul, much less any of the other gods from other pantheons – though I do hear Old One-Eye is quite…'charming'. Keep your wits about you, Rich One. Though we share a common enemy, things _will_ get heated."

I lay back, and the cool grass beneath my head is soothing. "Any advice on how to deal with the boy, Dream King?"

He laughs, in that light whisper of his; flapping his wings. "I'm afraid I am of no use to you in that department, Hades."

I nod, trying to spot the different constellations. "Will you come to tomorrow's gathering, then?" He shakes his head, placing a bag of sand in my hand.

"Unfortunately not, Rich One. Should you want to meet again, however, you need only use this." His alabaster hand closes tightly around mine. "Take care, my friend."

"Morpheus," I breathe, sighing deeply. The smell of dew and rushing water runs through my mind.

"Yes, Rich One?"

"Before you leave, may I ask you for another favor?"

"What is it you wish?"

I tell him. "Of course, Rich One." He smiles down at me, and the glade around us begins to fade – almost shake.

"Hank." The voice is a soft and gentle whisper.

I open my eyes, and she is there kneeling beside me, smiling softly at me. I feel her hand on my chest, warm and light.

I place my hand on hers, touching her soft skin. "Yes, my lady?" Her smile grows wider.

"You fell asleep, you dork. Dinner's ready, if you want any." I rub my thumb underneath the palm of her hand, moving to sit up. She places her hands at my sides, helping me to stand.

The boy walks in from the guestroom downstairs, holding my phone to his ear and looking frantic.

JIM

"_Jim_." Viola.

"Hey sorry for calling you so late. Shit's been really weird lately –"

She cuts me off…she sounds really scared. "_Jim, have you seen the news?"_

"No – why? What's goin' on, Vy?" I must be grippin' the phone somethin' fierce. She's speakin' really low…kinda like she's whispering, and for some reason, my stomach starts to knot up.

Some real big stuff is about to go down.

I can _feel_ it.

"Jim, those fires – it's a ton of kids who are starting them. Teenagers, like us. Some are even _younger._ My dad had to arrest one of the kids last night – found him writing some weird symbols in an alleyway nearby. Sailor, it's _crazy_." I need to see who these kids are.

I need to see their eyes.

I need to see if they're gold.

HADES

"Where's the remote?" he asks, anxiously. I point to where it sits on the coffee table, and he picks it up, turning on the television. "What station, Vy? KVOA? Got it." Cora turns, keeping one arm wrapped around me to give me support.

"More shocking news about the terrible series of apartment fires that took place this weekend in the Bedford–Stuyvesant neighborhood of Brooklyn that left 30 dead and 72 with critical wounds. Originally thought to be gang activity of the Second Sons, police are now saying that such a possibility is unlikely, as all suspects so far gathered have no connection to the gang." Clips of young people are shown, some being arrested, and some resisting arrest.

"Boys and Girls High School students, Carl Gagliardi and Raj Adani, are the latest suspects in these arsons, along with several other young men and women."

The screen changes from the woman at the desk, to a man, wiping his eyes; trying and failing to keep from weeping. There is a title of text underneath him, which reads: John Weis, Flint Apartments Survivor – Father of Two.

"He had his whole life goin' for him. A wrestling scholarship, good grades – I'm sorry," the man's eyes are watering, and he is beginning to weep again, "I'm so-so-so-rry. I ca-ca-an't do this."

The woman at the desk reappears, looking somber. "Once again, our prayers go out to the all the families and victims of these fires."

JIM

"You still there, sailor?" Not one of those kids had gold eyes. Not one fucking kid. Fucking seriously?

"Yeah, Vy," I say. My heart is pounding, and I don't know why. It's not the good pounding – when you're holding hands, or about to kiss someone, or they kiss you – no, this is…fear.

There's a twist, low in my gut. All those fucking _kids_ – kids like me; kids even fucking _younger_ than me – starting fires and hurting so many people.

I…don't wanna be like that.

"Sailor, you're wheezing into the phone. You okay?" I'm just stuck in place, fucking paralyzed. Why can't I move?

HADES

Something has disturbed the boy. His shoulders are set, his left fist is clenched, and his breathing has become ragged. He smells of fear.

"Jim," Cora says, soothingly. "Come to dinner. It's ready." Her hands have moved to my side and back to give me more support. Her touch is warm.

And distracting.

Jim nods, though he does not turn to face us. "I...gotta go, Vy. Yeah, okay. I'll meet you in the library tomorrow. Sounds good." He hangs up the phone, taking a shaky breath. His fear has receded, turning into confusion.

He turns, giving us a weak smile. "Dinner's ready?"

Cora nods, and he takes a slow and careful step, shaking his head. Folkvarthr walks up to him, rubbing his head against Jim's legs. He picks the animal up, seeming to come out of his stupor. He walks towards us, and hands me my cellphone.

"Thanks, man," he says. He is still very distracted. Cora and I follow him into the kitchen, with her hands giving me support as my leg continues to protest. She leads me to a chair and helps me sit. I feel like a burden.

I hate it.

"What the hell happened to the table?" Jim asks, looking up at me. His green eyes are reflective and curious.

"Zeus," I mouth, not actually saying his name. Cora cannot learn of these things yet. He gives me strange look; one that says, "We need to talk." Very well, Jim.I nod.

She comes back to the table, bringing plates carrying fish and salad. "Yeah Hank, what happened to the table? I was wondering about that. Hey, what do you guys wanna drink?"

"Tea," Jim answers. I ask for water. She returns, sitting next to Jim and across from me. She smiles at me.

I've missed her for so long.

"So, what'd you guys do today?" she asks, nudging Jim.

"Um. We…uh…" He looks up at me, not sure of what to say. Tell her you went to the gym, you dolt. He is still not answering.

I roll my eyes. "Jim said he wanted to exercise, so I drove him to a boxing gym."

"Oh really? What gym, _Jim_?" I cannot tell if her tone is displeased or not.

"Neutral Corner, downtown." Easy lie; easy liar. "What about you, mom?" Easy change of subject. He is good at this game.

"Well, Aunt Rachel and I were stalked by a creepy guy today." _What?_ She says the words jokingly –

The fury that erupts from in my chest is _not_ a joke. It is the new gods – for that I am certain.

I will rip them all apart with my bare hands.

JIM

Woah. The temperature in the room just dropped like a 1,000 fucking degrees. Okay, maybe not _that _much, but you know what I'm saying. And you know what? I'm starting to see – fucking see – swirls of black form around Hades. Where the fuck did that stuff _come_ from?

_You are becoming aware, James._ Yeah, well, will I start seeing monsters now, too, cat? _Perhaps._

Perhaps? _Per-fucking-haps?_ You mean to tell me this guy's always had this swirling black cloud of death around him and I never fucking _noticed_?!

_No._

Oh, okay, Folkvarthr. Must be a new thing, then. That's cool, I guess…

_He only gets like that when he is angry. And you've just now noticed. _

Well, fuck.

CORA

Why do I feel so cold all of a sudden? My arms are _freezing_. And Hank looks like he's about to have an aneurism.

And… I see swirls of darkness around him, but then I blink, and it's gone. What the _hell_?

His eyes look so _cold_.

He's…scaring me.

HADES

_Master Plouton, you must calm yourself_. I cannot, Folkvarthr. These new gods **_will _**pay. Dearly.

I should have gone with her. I should have been there to protect her. What if something _happened_ to her? What if…?

"Dude," I hear Jim say. He is looking at me; pleading with me. _You are scaring his mother, Master Plouton. _

_ You are scaring them both. _

I look at Cora, and her breathing is shallow. She _is_ afraid of me. That makes the pain in my chest grow. I clamp my teeth shut, close my eyes.

I must be patient. I must be still.

"Anyways," Cora says, nervously, "the weirdest thing happened – a bunch of cats just started showing up and all hell broke loose. It was kind of funny." She starts to laugh, and the mood has lightened a bit.

"An army of cats?" I ask. She raises an eyebrow, trying to copy me.

Jim purses his lips. "How do you _do_ that?"

I wink at him, taking a drink of water. "Practice, Jim." The cool water calms my nerves.

Cora narrows her eyes. "I'll get it someday, just you wait and see, Hank."

I grin at her. "Of that I have no doubt, my lady." Cora laughs, and Jim rolls his eyes.

"Anyways, yeah – an army of feral cats turned up. Really freaked out Rachel."

"She fu – sorry, Mom; I mean, uh, she 'freaking' – hates cats," Jim says, eating a large portion of the salad. The food is very good.

The rest of dinner goes smoothly, even happily, with Jim and Cora joking and laughing with each other.

"Oh! Jim, one of your friends called me today; said his name was AJ. He a friend from school?"

JIM

Holy shit. Alex called. "Yeah, Mom," I say. Shit, shit, shit. Alex called. That means-

What the fuck _does_ it mean? Does it mean I have to kill someone now?

I don't think…I can, now.

Maybe I… never could.

"He's in my English class." And fuck – Hades is looking right at me, his frosty blue eyes boring right into my fucking skull.

HADES

The boy is lying. Cora nods, believing him. He is a very good liar.

He is not good enough.

CORA

There's something weird going on between these two – a strange exchange that I can't make out completely. I look back and forth between Jim and Hank, and then the cat jumps up on the table, and runs across it, knocking plates onto the floor and food into our laps.

Dammit all.

HADES

Folkvarthr, just what in all of Tartarus do you think you're _doing_? _Creating a distraction. _Distraction?

_Breaking the tension. _

Jim starts to laugh, and then Cora. Wait.

They are laughing at _me_.

"What's so funny?" I am annoyed.

"Dude, you need to see yourself-"

"You've got food _all over_ your face, Hank!" She's holding her stomach, laughing hard. I pull my phone out, looking at my reflection. I frown – they're right; I have food all over my face.

Folkvarthr, you damn cat.

I take a piece of the salad in my hand, raising an eyebrow at Cora. She stops laughing, though Jim still continues.

"What are you Hank, twelve?"

I stand up, slowly walking towards her with a handful of the salad in my hand.

"Hank, c'mon, don't –" I put the salad in her hair, and lean down a bit to wipe some on her face.

"You. Suck. You know how long I spent making that salad?"

"No," I say, smiling at her. Jim keeps laughing. She winks at me, taking a handful of salad in her hands. "Watch this," she says. She turns around - quite fast, actually – and lightly tosses and handful of the food towards Jim's face. It lands perfectly, and in his surprise, he falls back in his chair, still laughing.

"Mooooooooom," he complains, holding his belly and chuckling on the ground, "I _just_ took a shower."

"Well," she says, "looks like you'll have to take another one." I sit down next to her, taking her hands in mine. Her hair is a mess, and her face is covered in green pieces of salad and dressing. She is still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

"You look very cute like that, you know."

She smiles. "Oh, stop it, you."

"I'm serious. Green is a very good color for you. Chic and all that nonsense." I casually wave my hand.

She gives me a quick kiss, beaming at me. "I'd rather not have food on my face, but thanks."

"Ugh, you two, get a room." Jim makes a disgusted sound at the back of his throat, and I grab a large handful of the salad on Cora's plate; toss the food at him as he tries to sit up and he falls back, laughing.

We spend a long time like that, enjoying each other's company. I have not felt so at ease and content in a very long time. After the dishes are put away, Jim cleans his face and heads into the guest bedroom, shutting the lights off. With Cora's help, I make my way upstairs. She has not said anything since Jim and I got back, but I know I need to clean myself.

Even gods can smell.

I head into the shower, letting the cool water hit my skin. _Get some rest, Master Plouton,_ Folkvarthr says into my mind. _Tomorrow will be a long day. _Indeed – a very long day. A meeting of gods always requires caution.

This meeting will require more than that. I sigh, rubbing my leg. The water is cold and refreshing. I lean against the wall. I do not notice that Cora has entered until I feel her kissing the top of my back; feel her hands on my stomach.

"I hope you don't mind if I join you," she says lightly.

I laugh. "Not at all." I turn, and I am greeted by a soft kiss.

"You still have food on your face," I say, smiling.

I can feel her grin against my lips. "Shut up." She pulls away before I can hold her to me, putting shampoo in her hands. "Here," she says, "let me wash you. Then you wash me." I feel her hands on my scalp, and then my body, soft and massaging. I am completely relaxed with her.

When it is my turn, I keep her close, slowly washing her; feeling her hot velvet skin beneath my hands. She is cold, and she holds onto me, placing her head on my shoulder. We stand like that for a few moments, letting the cool water fall against us. She kisses me, putting her hands on my face and trailing them down my chest and stomach, leaving me a breathless mess. I want to take her; have my release, but –

I will need an edge, tomorrow. So I do not attempt to take her.

But…she attempts to take me.

I feel her hand wrap around my length, giving me a gentle stroke. And then another.

And another.

And another and another.

"C-cora – " I have more self-control than this. I need this to stop, but her hand and hot kiss have set my body on fire. I push her against the wall of the shower, to maintain my balance more than anything else.

"I can't," I breathe against her hair, dipping my head down to her neck. Another stroke, and my hips move with her. Dammit.

"What's wrong?" she asks, genuine concern in her voice. She has stopped now, but pressed this close to her, my self-control is waning.

"Nothing's wrong." My voice is strained and rough. Her fingers lightly trace down my back, and a low groan escapes my lips.

"You seemed really tense at dinner," she says, softly kissing my shoulder.

"I…was." We are flush against each other. I can feel her soft breasts against my bare chest; hear and _feel_ her heartbeat. What if she had been hurt today? What if she had been taken away from me again?

She kisses me once more then, softly, and my self-control breaks. I will not lose her again. I cannot.

Her hands run across my back, and her tongue finds mine, and I was fool to think I could ever resist her. Again she reaches down, stroking me languidly, and my hips move in her touch.

"_Cora_," I say, wincing as my voice comes out as a feral growl. She looks at me with heavy-lidded eyes, and even as the cool beads of water hit us, my body feels unbearably hot in her embrace.

She kisses me again, slowly, and I can't fathom how I've lived without her this long. "Here," she says, putting something in my hand. It's a small packet.

"What is this?"

She laughs, kissing my chest. "Put it on already, you dork. Or I could do it." Put it on? She traces her hand down my forearm, taking the packet from my hand and tearing it open.

"I know you said you're sterile and clean and everything, but…I'd feel more comfortable if we used a condom," she says, bringing her hand down towards me again, rolling this strange plastic over me. I do not like this.

"You still don't trust me," I growl into her ear, and she shivers.

"Hank, it's not that I don't trust you, it's just that–oh _fuck_ –" I lift her legs up around my waist, and enter her, even with this uncomfortable plastic on.

"It doesn't matter, Cora." I bite her neck, rolling my hips slowly into hers – the sound she makes is most exquisite. "_You will_."

Her legs wrap around me, and I push into her more fiercely. I am angry, furious, even – at these new gods, at the Fates-

And Cora's lack of trust in me. She puts her head on my shoulder, curling her arms around my neck. My leg is beginning to throb, but I do not care. In her moans and gasps, I take her, more roughly than I ever have. I need this release, and I _need_ her. Her breath comes in short puffs against my shoulder, and her inner walls clench around me, and I grip her hips tighter. Her skin is burning against me; undulating, making a fire burn red-hot in my belly and down my neck and through my whole body.

"You don't have any idea what you do to me," I rasp. My thoughts are no longer coherent. She is searing in my veins; boiling my blood as she grips me tightly.

"I don't think you have any idea what you do to me either, Hank," she says, kissing my neck and making my heart pound. "I'm close – do-don't stop." I feel her pulsing around me, and despite the plastic that separates us, I groan. Losing her again will destroy me.

Having her might also destroy me.

"Hank," she breathes, and I feel her release around me. I love her. I wish I could tell her. "I'm here, Cora." I'm here, Persephone. I can feel you flowing in me. Breaking me apart, only to put me back together again. You had me trapped from the very moment I saw you.

There is no hope for me.

She tightens her legs around me, and I feel that fire in me spread from my loins to the rest of my body in wave after wave. I am spent, and my breathing comes in labored puffs into her hair. She kisses my cheek, and then finds my lips, and she runs her fingers through my hair.

We leave the shower, dressing ourselves, and she lays her head on my chest. "It'll be a busy day tomorrow," she says.

I wrap my arms around her tightly. I will kill every single one of these new gods. They will never come near her again. "Get some sleep, Cora. I'll take Jim to school tomorrow." I need to speak with him. She nods, drowsily.

"I don't get how it took me so long to find you," she says, half-asleep. It wasn't you who took so long, my love.

It was me.

"Sleep, Cora. I'm right here."

But now that I've found you, I'm not going to let you go. "Remember me," I say, falling asleep and into the world of dreams, and she is there, seated in the glade, looking up at the stars.

"Who are you?" she asks, looking up at me. "I can never see your face."

I sit down next to her, taking her hand in mine. "When you are ready, I will tell you. For now, my lady, let us look at the stars." She leans her head against my shoulder. "For now, know that I love you."

* * *

A/N: Okay, so next chapter is the meeting of the gods. I don't know about you, but I'm totally stoked. Unfortunately, I have a lot of work this weekend, so I may not be able to update until next week. I'll try to get it to you guys soon, though.

Anyways, leave your reviews, and comments! They are my motivation, and they help me get better as a writer. I want to bring a quality story to you guys, and I want to make sure that my attempts aren't all in vain. :P Anyways, yeah – leave your reviews and such. :)

Cora/ Persephone Playlist:

One More - Superchick

Dear Darkness – PJ Harvey

Bachelorette – Bjork

Paid My Dues - Anastasia

The Flowers – Regina Spektor

Angels – The xx

Numbers Don't Lie – The Mynabirds

Don't Rain on My Parade – Barbara Striesand

Sway – Anita Kelsey

All I Need – Within Temptation

Safe & Sound – Taylor Swift, featuring The Civil Wars

Dreams – Fleetwood Mac

Fighter – Christina Aguilera

U + Ur Hand – Pink


	25. A Meeting of Gods

Chapter 25: A Meeting of Gods

CORA

I wake up to the sound of him rustling around. He's not in the bed anymore, and I turn my head to where I hear his footsteps coming from. He's standing in front of the big mirror that hangs inside of the closet. He's got a pair of black pinstriped slacks on, shining black dress shoes and a white shirt. He's putting a tie on, and his beard is neatly trimmed. Hell, his hair is even _combed_. Well, as combed as it _can_ be; it's away from the front of his face, tucked behind his ears, but it still looks like it can come cascading forward over his eyes. Still though, he looks sexy.

_Damn sexy_.

After he's done with the tie, he pulls out a pinstriped vest and puts it on, inspecting himself in the mirror. A vest, huh? Most guys don't wear three-piece suits anymore. Then he puts on his suit jacket, and the look is complete. He frowns when he looks at himself in the mirror, wiping his hand across his cheeks and turning his head.

I yawn. "You're looking spiffy. What's the occasion?" He jumps a little. Did I…startle him?

He clears his throat, walking over to his desk and picking up something shiny. Looks like a ring. He puts it on his right middle finger. So it _is_ a ring.

He walks over to the bed and sits by me, taking my hand in his. "I have an important…business meeting today." He sounds anxious.

"Hey." I touch his arm, and I almost cringe – the suit feels ungodly expensive. I can't even imagine what the thread count is. He doesn't seem to mind, though. "You okay?"

He smiles down at me. "Not really, but I'll manage." He takes my hand and kisses it. "Thank you, Cora." I look at the clock on his nightstand, and it's 7:00 am.

I go downstairs with him, where Jim is sitting, already eating breakfast. He made a bowl of oatmeal for me. He may drive me up the wall, but I love this kid. Hank kisses me after Jim walks out the door. Seriously – how come it's taken me so long to find you, Hank?

He kisses my nose, too, and he smirks at me as he leaves. This guy, man – he really is somethin' else.

I wouldn't have him any other way.

JIM

Folkvarthr's in my backpack. He's gonna come to school with me. He says it's to 'protect' me or whatever; I think he's just doing it to annoy me.

"So, what's up with the suit?" Honestly, the guy seems tense as fuck, with a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Folkvarthr's asleep, sticking his little gray head out of the top of my backpack. Good – I won't have to hear his fancy fucking accent for a while.

"I have a meeting," he says, keeping his eyes stuck on the road.

"What kind of meeting?"

"An important one."

"Where?"

"A hotel."

"Why?"

"_Jim_." Now he looks at me, and damn, when he frowns, that scar looks 20 fucking times worse.

I shrug. "I'm just tryin' to make conversation." He sighs – groans, really – loosening his grip on the steering wheel. He's wearing a ring. I ain't ever seen him wear a ring before. It's silver, with a thick band, and a black jewel with some symbol carved into it that I can't make out.

We come to a red light. "What's the ring for?"

And no lie – he fucking _glares_ at me then, pursing his lips and flaring his nostrils. Damn, it looks like he wants to _kill_ me. It doesn't help that he's got tendrils of that creepy death-darkness swirling around him now.

"Not one more word, Jim. _Not_. **_One_**." The hell you so pissed off at, dude? He exhales, puffing out a loud breath from his nose.

And like always, I gotta push it right to the edge. "Hey man, I thought we were gonna _talk_." Please don't kill me, please don't kill me, please don't kill me.

He looks at me, jaw still clenched as all hell, but he looks less pissed now. Sorta. "…I'm… sorry," he says. "I am very…'stressed out,' as you mortals say." Oh, okay. Wait. Did he just _apologize_?

I grin at him. "Fuggedaboutit."

His lips kinda curl up at that, and he looks back at the road. "…The ring… carries the sigil of my house," is all he says after that. He seems like he's relaxed a little bit, but damn, not by much. I don't bother him again, 'coz I'm pretty fucking sure if I do, there won't be anything left of good ol' Jim Wells.

He stops in front of my high school. "We'll talk on the way back, Jim," he says, looking out of the window at me, and I give him a thumbs up. He drives off, still looking tense. Wherever he's going, whatever he's doing – it's got him anxious.

And that's scary as fuck.

HADES

Folkvarthr's decision to remain with the boy today has set me even more on edge. "I am the _boy's_ guardian," he said, "I am not your _queen's_ guardian. But do not worry yourself, Master Plouton – my bretheren will watch her." _Useless animal_. She will be out of my protection; in danger, and I will have no immediate way to reach her. Folkvarthr had woken me up this morning by jumping on my chest, nodding his head to a suit hanging on my closet door, with a pair of black dress shoes resting neatly at the bottom. Apollo had dropped off the clothes at the brownstone's front door, perfectly pressed and tailored. His note told me to comb my hair and shave. I only slightly obliged him.

I reach the hotel, taking my helm and cane out. I park, not handing my keys to the valet. If things get heated, I want to be able to leave quickly. 'When things get heated,' I should say.

As I walk in, I see my brothers there, talking with each other. They are standing by the front desk, and both of them are wearing suits. Poseidon spots me and waves his hand. Making my way over to them, I take in the luxury setting of the hotel – clean and sleek, and very modern. At least the gods will feel somewhat comfortable here.

I hope.

Poseidon shakes my hand. "It's been a long time, brother. You're looking well." His fiery curls are combed away from his face, but he has grown his beard out, and it is thick and trimmed. His eyes are as green as the sea.

"You as well." Hera and Hestia walk in, clothed in radiant dresses, along with Amphitrite. Hera stands by Zeus, nodding at me. Amphitrite does not acknowledge me, and instead whispers something in her husband's ear; I think it is something to the effect of, "The waters here are filthy. When can we leave?" Poseidon nods, taking her arm in his as he whispers something back to her. Hestia's black hair is tied in a braid, hanging over her shoulder, and her amber eyes smile at me. "My dear Hades," she whispers, touching my cheek with the back of her hand, "I've missed you, little brother."

"_I_ haven't," Demeter's shrill voice says behind us, and I turn.

"It's nice to see you too, sister," Poseidon greets, snarky and deadpan. Demeter rolls her eyes, walking towards us. "My anger is not directed at _you_, Poseidon. Though I do not miss you much either."

I narrow my eyes and smirk at her. "Do not say our names so loudly, sister. People might actually mistake you for a goddess." She rolls her eyes again, sticking her chin out. "You're one to talk, brother. With your limp, you're more crippled than that poor boy Hephaestus. He's quite capable now; with his new brace, he could probably run circles around any of us."

Hera's eyes gleam like daggers, and Zeus wraps a protective arm around her waist. "That's enough, sister," she says.

"What? It's not as if you ever_ loved_ the boy, Hera. You _did_ throw him off a cliff when he was born. It's a shame poor Ares has left you, isn't it? Now you're left with a son you never even wanted."

Zeus growls. "_Silence._"

Demeter shrugs, moving to lean by the counter. There are several mortals who have picked up on our conversation, and I feel a pull at my pant leg. I look down, and there is a small girl staring up at me.

"Hello there, little one." She looks to be about four or five, with dark brown eyes and skin and curly golden-brown hair.

"Are you Hades, like in the movie?"

I chuckle. "No, little one, I am not." I am most definitely not a movie character.

A woman comes rushes up, taking her daughter's hand and pulling her away. "Lizzy, come here! I'm so sorry, sir." The woman looks up at me, embarrassed and frantic.

I shrug. "Kids will be kids, right?"

She smiles then, thankful and gracious, and picks her child up, who looks back at me. I open the palm of my hand, briefly making green flames dance on my fingertips so that only she can see them. Her eyes grow comically wide in surprise and wonder, and she tries to make her mother turn around. I put my right index finger to my lips and wink at her, and she nods enthusiastically in understanding. When I turn around, my family is staring at me.

"What?" Poseidon puts a strong hand on my shoulder, squeezes tightly and chuckles. "It seems you've changed quite a bit, brother. It suits you." Demeter glares at me, darkly and angrily as she grips the edge of the front desk counter. I spot Apollo walking down from the hallway. "Athena, Thanatos and Hephaestus are done setting up. We just met Bast. She is quite lovely. The cats say that the other gods will be arriving soon," he whispers, adjusting the lapels on his gray suit. We walk into the ballroom together, with the king of the Greek gods arm in arm with his queen, and Poseidon and his wife following close behind them.

The one who is known as Bast greets my brothers and their wives first, until she finally reaches me. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Hades," she says, taking my hand in hers. Her skin is dark, and her eyes are amber. As I look at her, her face changes, becoming more feline-like. Well now, that is _quite_ interesting.

"The pleasure is mine."

She makes a sound, almost a purr in the back of her throat, and she smiles. "My father should be arriving shortly. In the meantime, please help yourselves to the refreshments."

There's commotion outside of the room, and shouts of distressed mortals. "Sir, you can't bring birds in here! Sir! Sir, you can't!" An old man walks in, with steely gray eyes and two ravens on his shoulders. No, wait – he is missing an eye. The other is glass. A much larger man walks in behind him, with a mane of fiery red hair and beard that puts Poseidon to shame.

"I appreciate your concern, young man, but my birds go with me," says the old man with one eye. His voice is silky and compelling, and the mortal nods, as if in a dream, walking away. The birds jump off of the old man's shoulders and fly around the room, and one dips low and stands on my lap; inspecting me briefly until it jumps off of my lap again, flying back to its master. He takes in a deep breath, sighing as the birds land heavily on top of his shoulders. "Thank you, Huginn and Muninn. I'll feed you when we get back, I promise." They squawk, and take flight again, perching atop the great chandeliers in the ballroom.

"Greetings, my fellow gods," the old man says, bowing. "I am the All-Father. You may call me Odin. This is Thor, the greatest of my many sons." He nods his head to the large red-haired man.

Thor grunts. "Pleasure." There are more sounds coming from the outside; plates crashing and people falling, and two women walk in, looking annoyed. Thor pinches the bridge of his nose with his very large hands. "I told you not to bring Loki, Father. I _told_ you."

Odin shakes his head, scratching his thick, gray beard. "Go get him, will you? He's being an embarrassment."

Thor shakes his head, rolling his large shoulders. "It was your idea to unbind him."

"Just do it, Thor." Odin smiles at us. "My apologies. We're not usually like this." The women introduce themselves as Freya and Frigga. They are beautiful, striking and confident.

"No, we're _always_ like this. Put me down, Thor." The man Thor is carrying has wild blond hair, and his body is lithe and slender. "Be quiet, Trickster, or I'll drag you back down into your pit where your woman and the snake wait." At that threat, the man they call Loki stops struggling.

Thor and Zeus shake hands, with Loki still hanging over Thor's shoulder. They seem wary of each other at first, but they grow friendly soon enough. "You Greeks don't seem so bad," Odin says, sitting beside me. His presence startles me. I have not been paying close enough attention. He pulls out a silver box and opens it, taking out a cigar.

He holds the box out to me. "Cigar?"

I shake my head and he shrugs. "Suit yourself." More gods continue to file in, with Bast there to greet them. A pale woman enters, and half of her face is rotted and corpse-like. Odin nods his head towards her. "That's Hel. Nice girl. A bit odd, but nice." She reminds me of a shade, and when she introduces herself, Demeter is obviously uncomfortable with her appearance. I like her already. "You're a quiet one, aren't you?" The smell from his cigar is making me light-headed, and his voice has a strange quality to it that I can't quite place.

"Sometimes," is all I manage to say. He seems to be enjoying whatever it is he is doing to me. Morpheus' words ring in my mind. _Old One-Eye is quite…'charming'. Keep your wits about you._ I stand, shaking away the fog that his built up in my mind. He grins at me and winks with his good eye, puffing out a large cloud of smoke in the shape of a hanging man.

Apollo, Hephaestus, Thanatos and Athena are seated with Thor, and he is throwing his large arms up in the air, talking jovially, and they laugh along with him. "So then, he said that when I was wrestling with the old crone, I was wrestling with old age itself. The king had tricked me, you see."

Apollo laughs, holding his hand around his mouth. "You remind me so much of Ares." Athena lightly slaps Apollo's shoulder. "Yes, if Ares was actually _likeable_." Hephaestus pays them no attention, preferring to tinker with another invention of his. And Thanatos, well...he is Thanatos.

I look back, and Poseidon has taken my place; he speaking with Odin, both looking serious and in contemplation. Bast continues to greet more and more gods as they walk in, and I spot a rather large man enter. No, not a man – he is an _elephant_, and though the illusion is strong, I can still see him. My two sisters are conversing with Freya and Frigga easily enough, but I spot Demeter standing by herself with her arms crossed. I feel Zeus' hand on my shoulder, his deep voice in my ear. "She knows nothing at the moment, Hades, besides the fact that this is a meeting of gods. When the boy is mentioned, be prepared."

"I will, brother. Thank you." I'm not sure what madness has compelled me to walk over to her, but I do not break my pace. She scowls at me, clenching her jaw.

"What do _you_ want?" I lean back against the wall, holding my cane in both hands out in front of me.

"Could we talk?" Bast introduces her father, whose appearance shimmers between having the head of a man and the head of a hawk. 'Ra,' I think is what his name is.

"What on earth for, Hades? What have _we_ to talk about?"

"Persephone, of course." There are several more gods that walk in, and looking past their illusions I can see that they have multiple arms and legs. My observation is cut short by a sharp slap to my face.

I can't say that I didn't expect that coming.

"Don't you say her name, you bastard. Don't you **_ever_** say her name." I rub my cheek, looking back to the other gods around the room. They don't seem to have noticed. I look back at Demeter.

"Was that really necessary, sister?"

"You took her away from me, and she died sacrificing herself for your pathetic life. I'll be glad if I never get to see your disgusting scarred face again, you wretched dog."

I cock my head to the side, grinning at her. "You're really pulling out the insults today. How long did you spend thinking up that one? A day? A year? Really, Demeter – you are not as clever as people give you credit for."

There's fire in her green eyes, and she raises her hand to slap me again. Just as she is about to reach my face, I catch her wrist, holding it tightly. "Bastard!"

I sigh. "If it's any consolation to you, dear sister, I do…apologize, for the pain I've caused you." Her face holds a fury that I know is reserved for me, and me alone.

"Let me go, Hades," she orders, controlled and measured. I do as she says, and she walks to our sisters.

"That didn't look very good," a voice says to my left.

I turn my head, and it is the girl who likes like a shade. She walks up to me, extending her hand. "I am Hel. You must be Pluto. I like that dog." …Dog?

"Some call me Pluto, yes. Most call me Hades," I laugh, "That is, when they deign to call me anything at all."

She smiles lopsidedly at me, and her shining silver hair falls in front of her eyes. "I like Pluto better. I will call you that."

"Call me whatever you'd like, Hel. I have many names."

She nods, rocking back and forth on her heels. "Don't drink the punch, Pluto. Loki did something to it. Oh would you look at that? A man with a bird-head. Isn't that interesting? I think it's interesting. I can tell you're curious about the All-Father and his lost eye. Don't be; he didn't lose it – he knows just where it is. He'll say those exact words if you ever ask him. By the way, what happened to your leg? What happened to your face? Did you sacrifice a portion of yourself like Mighty Tyr? Thor will turn this place into a mess if he gets drunk, so we can't let him, do you understand? The cat-woman is very nice. I like her, do you like her? I like her. Well, don't just sit there like a bump on a log, say something."

"I…"

She grabs my hand. "We're going to be friends, okay. These are dark times, and one needs friends in dark times. I'm going to introduce you to everyone here, so you can't be so quiet. People don't like quiet people. I would know. People don't like me. Do they like you? I would imagine so. You seem nice. You know who else seems nice? Thanatos seems nice. I like him. Do you like him? Are you two friends? Could you introduce us? I'm actually very shy. Oh! Look, an elephant! Isn't that _exciting_? I think it's_ exciting_. Let's go introduce ourselves, Pluto. I like that dog. Do you like that dog? The humans named a planet after you, do you know? Well, actually, it's not a planet anymore. You've been de-planetized, Pluto, I'm sorry. It's okay, though; people still like you." This girl is starting to give me a headache.

She drags me to god after god, and past their illusions, I can see blue skins and multiple limbs and bodies of animals.

"Hello everyone, this is Pluto. He likes to be called Hades, but I like to call him Pluto. Say hello, Pluto."

"Hello-"

She pulls me to another set of gods, and the process repeats, though I do manage to catch the name of the god who looks like an elephant and a few others. Ganesha is his name, and he sits with one who is called Krishna, and behind them sits a woman with red eyes and a ferocious smile. They tell me her name is Kali, though she does not speak to me. She is not one to trifle with, and her piercing stare makes me slightly uncomfortable. Hel takes me to another group before I can say any more than "hi".

"Did you know Loki has children? I'm his daughter. My brother is the great wolf Fenrir, who is destined to kill Odin at Ragnarok, and Thor is destined to kill my other brother, the great snake that wraps around the earth. Is that _exciting_? We play chess on the weekends."

"That is actually quite… fascinating."

She smiles, and her hands are cold like a corpse. "I told you, Pluto. We're going to be great friends, I can already tell. Oh! Let's meet these other deities, they look interesting. Hello everyone! My name is Hel, and this is Hades, but I call him Pluto. What are your names?"

A woman answers, radiant and glowing like the sun. "Amaterasu."

"Fūjin, god of wind."

"Ryūjin." This one is a dragon, and he reminds me of Poseidon. He has an aura of the sea about him.

"Susanoo-no-Mikoto, at your service. The inferior one there is my sister Amaterasu."

"We've already been introduced, brother."

He shrugs. "You're still inferior."

Hel drags me away again before any real shouting can begin. "I think Loki would like Susanoo-no-Mikoto. They're both tricksters. Do you have any trickster gods? Loki is the father of lies, you know. But I'm not a lie. Your sisters are very pretty, don't you think so? I think so. Where is your wife? You're married, aren't you? That's how the myth goes, right? I'd like to meet her. Let's go sit over there, right at the front, so we can see every single god that gets up to talk and stare at them. I'd like to meet Osiris, but Bast told me that Seth killed him. Isn't that sad? I think it's sad. Then again, the All-Father _did_ tear out the entrails of Loki's son and bound him to a rock, where he lays underneath a snake that drops poison onto his face. Loki is just too much of a menace. But he's here now. Maybe I'll be able to play chess with him. Do you like chess? I like chess. I wonder if any Sumerian gods will show up. They're very interesting. Oh! Do you know the boatman Charon? I was reading the Inferno a couple of nights ago, and he shows up for a small part. You do too. Do you know that? Anyway, what is he like? Are you friends? Can I meet him? Have you met Virgil? I've always wanted to meet Virgil, but he went to your underworld." Virgil, Virgil, Virgil…who is that? Oh yes, I remember. The Roman poet. If I recall correctly, Minos sent him to Elysium.

"Charon and I are friends, of a sort."

"Wonderful. I want to meet him. Can you take me to meet him? Should I bring a dog bone for Cerberus? Does he know how to play chess?"

"Uh…"

Thankfully, Bast takes the stand at the podium, and begins to speak. "Good afternoon, my fellow gods and goddesses."

"Good afternoon," the room of 300 plus gods replies in unison.

"Many of you were called to this meeting by my friends – the cats of the world. Many of you were shocked by the revelation that you and yours were not the only gods in this world; and shocked even more when you learned that there is a force threatening to destroy us all-"

"We'll beat the asses of these new gods into the ground!"

Bast smiles, but it is obvious that she is annoyed. "Thank you for your optimism, Thor. Now, Lady Freya and I have been very good friends for quite some time, thanks to our connection to our feline friends; consequently, we've known of each other's pantheons, but only relatively recently – within the last 600 years or so – have we begun to learn of these 'new gods' and the threats they pose. I trust you all know of the Creator now, and how this world is destined to end if we do not stop them, am I correct?"

There is murmuring and nods from the various gods. Everyone is anxious. Everyone is afraid. Well, perhaps not...everyone.

Odin gets up, and his white suit makes him stand out against a multitude of gods and goddesses. "Now wait just a minute, my fair lady. What of Ragnarok? If this is the end of the world, should we not let it just play out?"

Ganesha also stands, nodding his head in agreement. "Indeed – the universe destroys and creates itself in cycles. Who are we to try and stop the natural order of things?"

The murmuring gets louder, and the tension in the room grows. "Do you really want Ragnarok to happen, old man? My son is destined to _kill_ you." Loki is standing now, too, with Demeter sitting beside him and looking increasingly uncomfortable.

Thor jumps up, growling and holding a bottle of…well, I'm not entirely sure what it is. I assume it's some form of alcohol. "And I am destined to kill _your_ son, so be quiet, Trickster!"

"Oh no, Thor's getting drunk again, that's not good, not at all. No, no, no." Hel starts rocking in her chair beside me, putting her hands on her ears.

"Yes, and after that, _you'll_ die_ too_, you red-haired imbecile!"

"Who are you calling a red-haired imbecile?" That's Poseidon. This is not going well.

"Not you, you damn Greek!" The three of them look like they want to flay each other, and the gods in the room are all starting to shout and get up out of their chairs, ready to fight and kill.

Bast puts her hands up, and shouts, loudly. "People! People, _calm_ yourselves. We did not come here to fight each other, we came here to _help_ each other. Now. _Get in your damn seats_." Surprisingly, everyone listens; even Odin, though he does take his time sitting back down. He waves his hand. "Proceed, Lady Bast."

She gives him a forced smile. "Thank you, All-Father. Now, as I was saying – oh, _what now_?"

All the gods turn to the back of the room, where two figures are standing. No, not standing – they are _floating_. Their feet do not touch the ground.

"Good afternoon," Bast greets from the podium. "Would you gods like to introduce yourselves?"

They disappear and reappear in a flash of light on the stage next to Bast. They are beautiful, and completely androgynous in appearance. I cannot tell their gender... if they have any. "I am Raguel, and this is Dumah." The one who calls himself Raguel looks out at the crowd of gods. "We are angels, sent by the Creator."

The crowd erupts into a cacophony of shouts. "**_Angels?!_**"

Bast is doing her best to gain the attention of the crowd again. "Please, let's all sit back down." She turns to look at the angels, nervous and afraid. I am as well. Their power is immense. "Has…has the Creator sent you to assist us?"

Raguel shakes his head and his golden hair is unbearably bright. "We are merely here to observe. Please, do carry on." They disappear and reappear in back of me.

"Why, I do believe this is the one, Dumah. How _did_ you spot him so fast?" I do not turn around, but I can feel their crushing presence around me. Gripping the pummel of my cane gives me little comfort.

Bast clears her throat, wipes her forehead. "Right, well. Where was I? Ah, yes – the reason why we are all here. Quite simply, to prevent the apocalypse of our world, and perhaps the universe."

"Against our nature and purpose," says the goddess Kali, crossing her arms. She has…four arms, which is something that I did not notice before.

Bast growls, and it is a tiger's roar. "Listen, these new gods have changed things. There will be no Ragnarok, no changing of cycles – there will be only the new gods, and they will destroy our homes and our people and our world, and things will _not_ change or get better."

"How are you certain of this?" I turn to the sound of the voice, doing my best to try and keep from looking at the angels, and I spot something that astounds me. This god is very tall, and past his illusion, his body is that of a serpent's, with a feathered back and arms.

"Quetzalcoatl, please, allow me to explain-"

"I am the last of my kind, Bast; my fellow gods have either died or gone missing, and the humans no longer worship me – why should I care of what happens to me, much less them?" He shakes his head, sitting back down. He looks very weary.

"Uggghhhhhh. Can we _please_ get back to the topic at hand?" That sounds like the Trickster.

"Don't drink the punch," Hel whispers, holding tightly onto my arm. "Loki did something to the punch."

Bast nods, trying to collect herself. She has handled things quite well; no one has threatened evisceration yet. That will probably come soon, though. "Right. Back to the topic, how many of you know of the Aether Soul?" Everyone in the room raises their hand. "Very good. Recently, the Aether Soul was born to a woman here, in the mortal city of New York. As you know, he carries the blood of the four major pantheons…perhaps more, but only four bloodlines are necessary. Now, when this boy matures, he will be immensely powerful. He is instrumental in winning this war-"

"Who said anything about a war? If we are to die, then let it happen; it is the natural order of things." I am not sure what god says this, but Bast roars in frustration.

"I am only going to say this one more time: _we_ are the stewards of this planet; it is _our_ responsibility to take care of it, and the people here. This will not be the apocalypse, cycle change, or Ragnarok of your pantheon; this will be the end of _all_ of us. And there will be _no_ coming back from it. Do you all _understand_?" There is anxious whispering, with some murmuring disapproval. The vast majority, however, do not want to die. We are not so different from humans.

"Good. Now, are there any questions?"

Odin stands up, raising his hand. Bast looks as if she is about to growl, but she restrains herself. "Yes, All-Father?"

"Ah, yes. I was, ah, wondering – who is this boy's mother? And for that matter, who is his father?"

Bast clears her throat again. "His mother is the reincarnated Greek goddess, Persephone, consort to Hades." There is a pained screech in the back. I am quite sure the sound comes from Demeter.

Odin grins, taking a drag from a new cigar. "And the father?"

"A mortal man, Leland Reznor. It's likely that he carried at least one of the godly bloodlines. Though at this point, it would be impossible to decipher which, as he is dead. Anything else?"

Odin shakes his head, smiling as he sits back down. "_Rot,_ Hades!" There's Demeter again. Several gods look at me, including Bast, who eyes me with sympathy. I shrug, uncomfortably, and Hel's grip on my arm tightens as the angels laugh behind us. "Don't drink the punch. Loki did something to the punch."

Another god raises his hand. "Yes, Horus?"

"If we are to go to war, fair Bast – who will train the boy? It seems necessary that he must be trained, if he is to be of any use to us."

"Here's an idea: why don't we just _destroy_ him? It seems like it would be much less trouble -"

"No one will be killing _my_ grandson!"

"Who asked you, you old crone?" Loki and Demeter are yelling at each other. My headache is going to last for days. The gods are _all_ starting to argue now, and power rises and undulates throughout the room as voices rise.

My leg is pounding.

My head is pounding.

My heart is pounding.

"**_ENOUGH!_**" The room stops, and everyone but my own family is staring at me in shock and disbelief. Hel is holding her ears, rocking back and forth in her seat. "That was too loud, Pluto. Too loud. I don't like loud noises. I don't like them. Not at all." My chest is rising and falling in rapid succession, and my hand is holding my cane in a vice grip.

The angel Dumah nods his head at me, and Raguel's eyes gleam. "Yes, Dumah. I do think this is the one."

I look out over the two angels, whose gazes I cannot meet. Even sitting, their feet stay off of the ground. "I will do it. _I_ will train the boy," I say, gazing pointedly at the crowd. Demeter shouts something, but she is cut off by uproarious laughter from Thor.

"You? _You_ will train the boy? You can't even walk." He stands. "_I _will train the boy. I am the most fit to do so."

I glare at him. "I have the most claim, Thor. He is my wife's –," another shriek from Demeter, " –son. He is my responsibility to train."

He crosses his arms, flexing the large muscles in his neck. "Claim means nothing here, Hades. He will learn how to fight like a Norse god, and we will win this war."

"Oh no, Thor's drunk again. That's never good, no, no, no."

Freya steps up to the podium, much to the relief of Bast. "Let us vote. Those in favor for Thor, say 'aye'."

There are many 'ayes' for Thor. I receive just as many. "A tie," Freya says, frowning. "How do you two wish to resolve this?"

I narrow my eyes. "We will duel," I say, and Thor holds his belly, laughing so loudly that others begin to join him.

"A duel? You must be_ joking_. Look at you! I could crush you with my little finger. I could crush you with the _hairs_ on my _arms_!"

"Are you going to stand there and blather on all day, or are you going to fight me?" He stops laughing, cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders.

"You must be as insane as the movies say you are."

I grin. "I must be."

He returns my grin, flashing crooked white teeth. "Very well. We will duel."

* * *

The chairs have been placed all around the ballroom, and the two angels stand on the far side, their feet never touching the ground. The center of the ballroom is empty.

Bast walks into the middle, and she is faced by gods from all sides. "Now, seeing as most of us are going to be staying here for the time being – or at least for tonight – I'm sure the majority of us don't want this place destroyed. Would someone please make a barrier for the room?"

Odin smiles, winking his good eye at me. I do not like this man. "I will do it," he says, walking to the center and holding his palm up towards the ceiling, where his two ravens still sit on the chandeliers. A wave of power pulses through the room, and the barrier is set. I look across to the other corner of the room, where Thor and his ilk stand. He has removed his suit jacket and shirt, revealing his enormous muscles. He thrusts his hips in the air, pointing at me. I grimace. He's more disgusting than Zeus.

"What's the matter, Hades?" he shouts, "Are you afraid to take your shirt off because you think I'll fuck you? I thought you Greeks liked that." Poseidon steps in front of me, blocking my vision of Thor and the other Norse gods who are uncomfortably laughing at his antics. Poseidon places both of his hands on my shoulders. "You don't have to do this, Hades. The boy isn't your responsibility." I quickly look at Zeus off to my right, with his arms crossed and a hard set in his jaw. "Yes he is, Poseidon." I shrug off my suit jacket and vest, followed by my tie and shirt, and Poseidon does his best to keep from staring at the scar on my chest. "I'll hold these for you," he says.

"Thank you, brother." He grabs the back of my neck, presses our foreheads together. "Kick his ass, Hades." And then he lets me go, playfully hitting my shoulder.

"Go Pluto, go Pluto, go!"

He winks, nodding behind me. "It looks like you've made a friend, Hades."

I gaze back at Hel, who is holding hands with Hestia, swinging their arms back and forth. I smile. "It seems as though I have."

I look at Zeus, and he nods at me, keeping Hera close.

Athena, Apollo, Thanatos and Hephaestus are sitting on the stage behind us, and the only one who has defected is Demeter, who stands in the corner of the Norse gods. Her hatred for me runs deep – too deep to ever change.

I walk to the center, limping on my cane as I go, and I hear laughter and hushed whispers and gasps all around me. Bast stands with Odin, who smiles brightly. "Right. Now gentlemen, here are the rules: the first to lose consciousness loses the duel. You are of course limited to the confines of this room, but the barrier that the All-Father generously provided will allow you to use your powers as you wish without destroying the lovely interior of the room – or the whole building. Don't kill each other. Any questions?"

Thor cracks his knuckles, shakes is large head. "I'm ready. Are you, Hades?"

I slam my cane down into the ground, and green tongues of fire dance around it, changing it into my staff. I breathe in, savoring the power and strength that returns to me.

Thor grins. "Nice trick, but I have a better one." He opens the palm of his right hand, and a heavy war-hammer appears in a crack of thunder and lightning. "This is Mjollnir, and she will be the last thing you see before I crack your skull in."

I shrug. "We'll see about that."

Bast and Odin walk out of the center of the room and into separate corners. "Ready, gentlemen?"

"Ready!" we say in unison.

"_Fight!_"

Thor moves first, throwing his heavy hammer at me. I just barely manage to evade it, and part of it clips my arm. He has drawn first blood, and his eyes flare in triumph.

"Hades, watch out!" My brother's voice and the sound of the hammer returning to its master's hand makes me duck. I roll my shoulder, feeling the bruised tissue there heal. In his next blow, he hits my bad leg, right where my injury is, and I cry out, clutching it. It feels as if I've just been sliced with my father's scythe there, and I almost retch. I am not sure what keeps me standing; what gives me the will to push through the agony, but I do. My cries of pain elicit laughter from the crowd, and from Thor.

"_This_ is the mighty Hades?! Lord of the Underworld, who enriches himself with the cries of desperate mortal souls? You are _pathetic_!" I need to find an opening. He throws his hammer, but it returns to him too quickly for me to land a good hit. I will need to get closer. I spin my staff, closing the distance, and now we are on more equal footing. There are shouts from the other gods, each of them either praising me or Thor, and with each new parry a sound as loud as thunder booms throughout the room. My leg pounds as I move, and on one occasion I almost lose my balance, but the fight continues in a flurry of parries and blows.

Thor's next strike sends a course of electricity burning through my body as I block it, and I use my good leg to jump behind him. He reminds me of a feral animal, with his long red hair falling out of its tie and into his eyes.

"That's quite a scar you've got," he says, beginning to spin his hammer. "The one I am going to give you will be much worse."

I smirk. The pain in my leg is starting to make me feel light-headed, but I need to seem confident. "I doubt that." He roars, charging at me, and I sidestep him, beginning to whirl my staff, setting it ablaze with green flames. In my anger, the tongues of fire begin to turn black as I create a twister.

"Block this," I say, jumping and hitting the twister of black and green flames towards Thor, who knocks it away with his hammer. "What a weak attack," he says, laughing.

I smile. "That was the distraction," I say from above Thor's head, and he looks up at me in complete shock.

"How-?" I bring my staff down hard, right on his clavicle, and the force of the impact causes the ground and earth beneath us to rumble and shake. I even see some gods in the audience lose their balance and fall. He crumples to the floor, and his eyes roll to the back of his head. With my knee digging into his back, I grasp his hair, pulling his head up and looking directly at Demeter and Odin; who are standing beside each other now. "Your champion has been soundly defeated," I snarl. Odin nods his head in amusement, and Demeter only glares. Thor begins to regain his consciousness, and I roughly press his face into the ground until I hear the distinctive sound of his nose cracking and breaking, and he chokes on the blood that pours from his face. "Taste it, Thor. No. **_No_**. _Don't you try to lift your head._ No, no, _taste_ it, you filthy pig. **_Taste it_**." I force his head down, rubbing his face in his own blood. "Can you **_taste_** it? Yes? That's the taste of **_defeat_**, Thor. Learn it, and remember it, and know that it was **_I _**who brought it to **_you._**" I dig my fingers into his scalp, and he grunts in pain as I bring my head down to his ear. _"Know that it was a **cripple** who made you choke on your __**own**__ blood." _I stand up, slamming his head down again, and he makes one last grunt before finally losing consciousness. The gods stare at me with a mixture of fascination, admiration and horror, and the two angels simply observe, like always.

"Would anyone _else_ like to challenge me?" I ask. I can't imagine how crazed I look. If my voice is any indication, I must look like…my father.

"_I am Hades Aidoneus Clymenus Polydectes, and it is here that I stake** my** claim!_" I roar, glaring directly at Demeter. "Persephone is**_ mine,_** as is her son. He will be trained by _me_, and by me **_alone_**. And if anyone else–," I look around at the room of gods that has grown eerily quiet, "– has a problem with that, you can talk with my _good friend_ Thor here." I take in a stuttering breath, compose myself, and walk back to my family when no one murmurs dissent. The gods begin talking amongst themselves, and as I look back, I see Odin glower down at his son in disgust.

"You disappoint me, Thor. Come on, let's get you up." He lifts his son, walking him back over to their corner, and sitting him down.

Poseidon slaps a hard hand on my shoulder and grins at me. "That was _fantastic_, brother!"

Zeus comes up and smiles at me, as does Hestia, and even Hera. "And saying your full name like that was a nice touch." I tiredly nod, clutching at my thigh. "I appreciate that, brother, I really do – but could someone _please _get me some ambrosia?" Poseidon laughs, grabbing a piece from inside of his jacket pocket and handing it to me. As I eat it, the throbbing pain in my leg recedes, to a point where it becomes bearable. "Thank you, Poseidon." He squeezes my shoulder. "Remind me not to challenge you to a duel, brother." I smile, but my leg spasms, finally giving out, and I fall forward. My brother catches me before the other gods in the room can notice. "Alright, alright, Hades, I've got you. C'mon, you old bastard. Hestia, dear, pull that chair out for him. Thank you, sister. Here you are Hades, sit. Drink." He gives me a bottle of nectar, and the bronze fluid relaxes and soothes me. I lean my head back against the top of the chair, my eyes half-open as I see Bast return to the center of the room.

"Well, uh, today went quite better than I think any of us expected. We will need to meet again to discuss more things, but for today the meeting is adjourned. Enjoy your rooms and enjoy the city. And let's try to keep things civil, shall we? We've already had one duel today – we don't need another one."

I look up at the chandeliers, and Huginn and Muninn stare down at me. "Thought and Memory like you, Pluto, yes they do. Thought and Memory like you. Don't drink the punch, okay? Loki did something to it."

I close my eyes, feeling the stares of the ravens and the angels and the one-eyed stare of the gallows-god on me. Let them stare; let them observe.

What are they possibly hoping to find?

* * *

A/N: Whew, long chapter here. Well, long for me at least. Now, there probably won't be an update for a week, because I'm going to be very, very busy. But I hope this long chapter will tide you over in the time being. Thank you for your lovely reviews and thoughts, all of you. I really appreciate that you take the time and effort to make them. Jim's playlist will come with the next chapter. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading this as I enjoyed writing it. Hades showed a little bit of his dark side here. :) And I love Thor. I'm not hating on him; but you know how he gets, guys. Maybe Hades and him will become buddies, you never know. :P Bahaha, probably not, but we'll see ;)

As always, leave your comments/ reviews in the review box! And thank you for taking the time to read my story!


	26. A Mysterious Voice

A/N: Hey guys; short chapter here, sorry about that. I'll try to update soon, because this weekend I won't have access to a computer at all. So, if I don't update before Thursday, don't expect an update until next Saturday. :/ Sorrrrry.

* * *

Chapter 26: A Mysterious Voice

_You aren't paying attention to your studies, James_. I know, cat. I fucking know that. Stay out of my thoughts. It's not like the guy is teaching anything yet.

"Faulkner?"

"Here."

"Guerrero?"

"Present."

"Hawkins?"

"Here."

There's a sub teachin' my English class now. Apparently Mr. Gordon had a mental breakdown over the weekend or some shit. Whatever; maybe this guy will be less of a dick.

Probably not, though. Viola is sitting in front of me, and I just wanna run my fingers through her hair. I don't, though. There's other stuff on my mind.

"Wells?"

"Yeah."

The guy nods, adjusting his glasses and writing his name on the board. He's got salt and pepper gray hair, and he's probably in his 60's, with a big round pot-belly that sticks out and rosy cheeks. Mr. Costigan is his name.

"Good morning class. I'll be your sub for the semester. I'm not sure if you heard, but Mr. Gordon is…going through some trouble right now, and Mr. Reyes has asked me to step in. Now, I know that Jeff – excuse me – that Mr. Gordon had you guys studying symbolism in _Heart of Darkness_, but to be frank, I find that story to be rather dense and boring, so I'm switching around the curriculum while he's gone. So guess what, kids? We're going to be reading the _Odyssey_ for the rest of the semester. Be excited!"

There's rustling around in my backpack, and I know it's Folkvarthr. _What has you so worried, young master?_ I dunno, buddy. I dunno.

"Now, who here can tell me something about Greek mythology? Come guys, don't make me pick victims, because I will. Nobody? Alright, let me see here – you know you guys brought this on yourself, right? Okay, I'm looking through my roster here…let me see, let me see…Ah, Mr. Wells. Mr. Gordon left some _interesting_ notes about you…what can you tell me about Greek mythology?"

Are you fucking serious? Me? Of all the fucking people in the class, you pick _me_? Viola turns her head a little bit, gives me a small smile and goddammit now I'm blushing.

"Nothin', teach. I don't know anything about Greek mythology." Costigan's eyes narrow, and I feel really fucking exposed. _He knows you're lying, young master. _Is he a bad guy, Folkvarthr? _…I'm not entirely sure. _Well, that's fucking great.

"I see. Well, I guess I'll just have to call on someone else. Rogers?"

"Yeah, Mister?"

"What can you tell me about Greek mythology?" He keeps lookin' at me, and I shit you not, I start to feel my head spin and my eyelids get heavy, and I'm tossed into this world of clashing swords and lightning and smoke.

"Folkvarthr?! _Folkvarthr, where are you, you fucking cat?!_" Scrambling on my back away from a huge fucking chasm that's opened up in front of me, I hear no answer from my cat-friend; just the clashes of swords, and the smell of smoke and the heat of fire. And then I see them.

I see the gods.

And then I see _him_ – Hades, fighting, with no limp or scar on his face, ferocious and vicious, covered in black armor and sweeping a staff across rows and rows of monsters; setting them ablaze with green flames. And then there's a voice in the air, not like any fucking voice I've ever heard.

_"He lives in you."_

I look up at the sky, alight with lightning and flames, and the sky is alien, too; with two moons and a purple sky, and there are more gods fighting now; gods I recognize from old stories, like Thor and Bast, fighting against gods I _know_ are not part of the old stories. They're fighting and…

They're losing.

And then, I see – see and _feel_ a strike of blue lightning hit, scorching the ground and taking out whatever was in its path –

I hear him fall before I see him fall.

He's on his knees, a shaky grip on his staff as he looks up at the sky, breathing hard and sweating and there's…gold and red blood pouring out from cuts on his face. I see my mom then, too; glowing with strength and power, fighting to get close to him, and suddenly _I'm_ right in front of him, and he's looking up at me.

"You don't want to do this," he says, looking right through me. "You don't have to do this."

And then his eyes turn white, glowing and burning and_ I_ am too; and somewhere in the background I can hear my mom screaming for both of us. And I'm _scared_, because my body is gone, and so is his, and there's nothing but space and stars around us. "This isn't who you are, Jim." It's his voice, and he's close; even though we're nothing, I can _feel_ him all the same; a cool presence, strong and reassuring. "This isn't who you who were meant to be."

"Who am I?"

There are stars all around us; glowing red and blue galaxies forming and then being destroyed, and I feel like I'm passing through all of time.

"Who am I, Hades?"

And then there's that voice again; something that ain't a god, but ain't a human either.

_"Do not fear, young Aether. He lives in you."_

And I finally notice that Hades' presence is gone, and I fucking start to panic.

"Wait! Who am I? What's going on?! _Who am I?_"

And then I'm spinning, falling towards Earth and back into my body in my English classroom, and I see Costigan about to draw on my face with a sharpie. I wake up instantly, and grab his wrist.

He's smiling down at me, pulling his wrist out of my grasp. And let me tell you; I was gripping the guy pretty damn hard, so him being able to pull his hand out without any effort means that the guy is pretty fucking strong. _Are you alright, James? You fell asleep, and I…could not feel your soul. You had me very worried. _What the fuck does that mean? You couldn't feel my _soul_? There's more rustling in my backpack. _No, James. It was as if you were…spirited away._ You have got to be shitting me.

Can't my life be normal for once?

"I see you're awake now, Mr. Wells. No more falling asleep in class, eh? Things happen in our dreams, don't they?" Costigan winks at me, then walks back to the board, and I'm fucking on the edge of my seat for the rest of class. I wasn't even fucking tired; the guy looked at me, and it was like I fucking passed out.

I don't like this guy. _I feel the same way, young master._

The rest of class goes by, and I sorta feel like a zombie passing throughout my morning classes; just goin' through the motions.

It felt like we were both dying, Hades and me.

And then, he was just _gone_ – wiped from existence. And it felt so _real_, it scared me; scared me like nothin' has for a long time.

Shut up.

And then fucking Folkvarthr tells me that my soul just sort of left my body and went on a fucking cosmic journey, so a part of me feels like that shit really _did_ happen; or _will _happen. I don't fucking know.

But I ain't dead, and deep down, I know Hades is still being a surly bastard somewhere in the city. So that brings up the question –

What in the actual fuck happened back there?

I walk into the library at lunch, my feet sorta just dragging me there, and I see Viola there, sitting at one of the desks and looking up something on her computer. She sees me, and smiles.

I wanna smile back, but I can't.

_"Do not fear, young Aether. He lives in you."_

"Jim! Your nose is bleeding!"

"Huh?" _James! James, you're about to lose consciousness –_ Gee, thanks for the warning this time, cat.

Before the blackness engulfs me, I hear an evil voice cackling, even as a surge of what I can only describe as power flows through my body.

…What the fuck is happening to me?

* * *

A/N: So….any guesses as to who Mr. Costigan may be? Is he evil? Is he good? Do you think you know? Maybe he's a random guy, hmmmm? ;) See you guys soon! Maybe. :P As always, leave your thoughts and comments. I hope you guys like this chapter; I know it was short, but it was important.

Here, as promised, is Jim's Playlist:

Headstrong – Trapt

Where'd You Go – Fort Minor

Smells Like Teen Spirit – Nirvana

Killing in the Name – Rage Against the Machine

You Can't Take Me – Bryan Adams

Emotionless – Good Charlotte

I'm Not Okay – My Chemical Romance

Asshole Father – Sick Puppies

The Widow –As Cities Burn

Indestructible – Disturbed

Comin 'atcha live - Tesla

You Got Another Thing Comin' - Judas Priest

Stand Up - Thunder

Saxon – Never Surrender


	27. You Don't Get to Call Me That

Chapter 27: You Don't Get to Call Me That

JIM

When I come to, days, hours, weeks, months later – well actually, only a few seconds later, Folkvarthr is licking my face, and his scratchy tongue gets me right the fuck up.

Hell, everything's happened so fast that Viola is barely making it out of her chair, and I hear our librarian – Ms. Jay – running over. Folkvarthr jumps into my backpack, which I guess slid off of my shoulder as I was blacking out, I don't fucking know. He manages to make it in there before Ms. Jay gets to me – hell, even before Viola gets to me – in a blur of silver, so I'm pretty sure the librarian doesn't see him. If Viola does, she doesn't say anything 'bout it.

"Jim, what the hell?! You okay? What the hell am I saying?! Of course you're not okay – you hit your fucking head! Oh my God! Jim – goddammit, sailor!" Viola is kneeling beside me now, lookin' like she's tryin' to inspect my head but is sorta freakin' out in the process, and then the librarian gets to us, breathless and freakin' out too, and honestly I feel fine.

Well, physically, at least. My head don't hurt, and my nose ain't bleeding – but then I remember that cackling voice, and I feel a cold tingle run down my back.

Shut.

Up.

Ms. Jay kneels on the other side of me, cellphone in hand, asking how I feel; saying she's gonna call some teachers to get a wheelchair and take me to the nurse where she can check me out and see if I need to go to the hospital.

"N-n-no-no. No, Ms. Jay. I'll be fine – I can make it to the nurse. I can do it. I feel fine right now. I'll be okay – c'mon, Miss! I don't need the wheelchair; I can make it by myself, I swear." And honestly, she's _really_ freaked out, staring at the dried blood running from my nose; lookin' like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi-truck. So she nods, 'coz I think she don't wanna deal with the situation at all anymore. I get up slowly, with Viola's help – but really, I feel fine; I really fuckin' do – and I pick up my backpack with Folkvarthr and nothin' else in it, and we walk hand in hand through the hallways.

"I'm not going to the nurse."

Viola looks up at me, gives my hand a tight squeeze as popular cheerleaders – her friends, dammit – and jocks stare at us. Well, stare at Viola – these assholes fuckin' _glare_ at me. I keep my eyes peeled for gold ones, but I don't see any.

That don't mean there aren't any there, though, and that knowledge makes my stomach twist up somethin' fierce.

"C'mon, sailor. You passed out – fell harder than a pile of AP textbooks. You should go to the nurse, like seriously. You keep freaking me out like that, I'm gonna have to pinch you because it pisses me off." She kicks my ass, and not in the way you're thinkin', either. I mean like she literally kicks my ass; slapping my butt with her right foot as we're walking like a total weirdo.

I fuckin' love this girl.

Picking the lock to get in, I walk us into the old auditorium; the one that's used for PTO meetings and the place for pedophile teachers to have affairs with their students. Sick? Yeah. Private? Most fucking definitely, especially at lunch.

We sit down on the stage, and Folkvarthr ain't rustling around in my backpack anymore, so I guess the furball is asleep again. Lazyass.

There's no light, and we're surrounded by darkness. A part of it's comforting, but another part of it makes me glad that I've got Viola here with me. Shut up.

"Tell me what's going on, Vy."

I feel her hand squeeze around mine again, and then she lets go; pulling out her laptop.

"Don't laugh at me when I tell you, okay. Actually, you have to promise me that you won't laugh, sailor. Okay? I can't believe you tucked me into not making you go to the nurse. You're a bad influence, you know."

She can't see me grin, but I do it anyways. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I promise not to laugh, either. I swear to God and…fuck, I swear to Jeter. Hell, I swear to Verlander – you still like the Tigers, right?"

I see her face light up blue from the screen of her computer, and I tuck a soft strand of hair behind her ear. That makes her smile; probably blush too. I gotcha, Vy. "Hellz yeah I do – but not as much as the Yankees. Hang on, let me pull this stuff up. You remember how I was telling you that kids were starting the fires? Yeah? Well, remember when I told you that my dad found a kid painting weird symbols on walls?"

I nod. "Here it is," she says. I look at the picture, and it's a wall covered in weirdass writings and symbols…and they make my heart pound.

"What the fuck is all that shit?"

We're sitting close now, staring the computer screen in the darkness. She sighs, letting out a deep breath. "Okay, you promised not to laugh, so here it goes. No one knows this, except my own family, Jim. Okay, okay. I'm gonna stop stalling. A couple years ago I saw this movie, _The Craft_, and I kinda went into a goth, wiccanish stage – hey, I can hear you starting to laugh; you promised, you ass…Grrrr. Stop. You done? Okay, anyways, that's all past me now, but yeah – I was a Wiccan for a while, then I dabbled in worshipping the old Norse gods, Greek gods, y'know, stuff like that. Tryin' to find myself. Stop tickling me – I'm tryin' to be serious, sailor! Anyways, when I was lookin' at this picture-"

"How'd you even get this picture?"

"My dad is a dumbass okay – it's not important right now. I was looking at this picture, and I recognized a lot of the symbols. And Jim…the things on that wall – they're…_evil_, sailor. Curses, invocations of death…for deathless gods and…humanity. And here's the kicker-"

She grabs my wrist, and I can tell she's scared. She points to a corner of the picture. "When I was looking at this picture last night, I swear to God, there was a figure right there-"

"You're starting to freak me out, Vy."

She holds me tighter. "Jim, you picked a shitty spot to do this – no lights or anything; but I'm not kidding you, okay. I kept looking and looking, and there was a face there." Honestly, I believe her. I've had conversations with cats and I've been living with the Lord of the Underworld for three days – shit's only bound to get weirder.

I peer at the corner of the screen, and I feel like I'm being sucked in. _D_o _not look at the image_, _young master. _Why, Folkvarthr?

_You will bring them here. _

Features of a man start to form at the edge, and I _can't_ stop staring, no matter how much I want to just fucking run away.

Viola's hand is grabbing mine, and I know she's starting to see him too; and whoever this guy is, I know he' malevolence incarnated.

I feel like his hands are gonna reach through the computer screen, and then the fuckin' bell rings for the end of lunch, and me and Vy both jump, and she almost fuckin' drops her laptop.

She catches it on time, though.

I walk her back to class, and we're both sort of shaking the whole way there.

"S-s-sorry about that sailor. I just figured you should know…You're-you're not gonna think …I dunno…"

I kiss her cheek, and I can feel Dave Cousins' friends all stare at us as we walk through the hallway. "No, it's cool, Vy. Thanks for…showing me that shit." I got tons of stuff to tell you too, girl. And I will, soon. I promise.

When she gets into class, I walk to the nurse. _What are you doing, James?_ I have to make a call, cat. Stay out of my fucking business.

"Hey Mrs. Freeman." I tell her about what happened at lunch, and she checks me out, giving me a slip to go to the front and call my mom to take me to urgent care. I go to the front office, giving the lady my slip, but instead of calling my mom…

I call Alex.

The lady at the front is on her lunch break, listening to her IPod so loud that I can hear the music blaring into ears from the other side of the fucking desk. Good. She won't be able to hear my conversation.

I dial his number, and the phone rings and rings, until finally – fucking _finally_ – he answers.

"….Who the fuck is this?"

"Uh. Little Slugger. The fuck is going on over there?" Seriously – it sounds like there's lightning striking right beside him.

"Holy shit, Jim! Hey, listen; these fires are really pissing off the Boss – he thinks it's the Second Sons, but I fucking told him – anyways, whatever. He thinks it's time for you to try and join the ranks again. I thought we were gonna try and wait a few months, at least, but with these fuckin' fires-"

"Join the ranks again?"

"Yeah, Jimbo-"

That makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Don't call me that, Alex. Ever." Only one person can call me that, and you ain't him.

"Ight, ight, I won't. What's got you so touchy?"

My grip on the phone gets tighter, and I can hear the plastic cracking. "Oh, I don't fuckin' know – maybe the fact that you told me not to call you for three or four fucking months while you needed to sort your shit out-"

"Calm your ass, kid."

"I'm not a fucking kid, Alex."

"Listen here, you little shit – you've got a month to take your balls back from whatever bitch stole them from you, and you either to it then, or you never do it at all, you got it?"

"…Maybe I don't want to, anymore."

"What'd you just say?"

"Nothing." Goddammit.

"That's what I thought. One kill, kid. One kill and that's it. Get it over with. Go to the old warehouse in Bed Stuy, and we'll head into Second Son territory. And then you can have your family."

"And then I can have my family."

"That's right, Little Slugger." I'm going to fucking break this phone, I'm holding onto it so hard.

Hades' voice rings in my mind. _You're no killer, boy._

"Fine, Alex. I'll be there."

I know he's smiling on the other line, and it's pissing me off. "Glad to hear it, Little Slugger. In the meantime, try to stay out of trouble, yeah?"

Yeah, whatever, tool. I think I know where I wanna be, and following _you_ ain't gonna take me there.

I put the phone back, take a late slip and go back to class. The lady at the front doesn't seem to give a shit either way. Folkvarthr hasn't said anything, so I guess he's asleep, but I don't know. I keep thinkin' about Alex, about the shit he wants me to do; the shit I was willing to do…fuck, only like a week or two ago.

What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

* * *

a/n: Sorry for the short updates here, folks, but like I said, updating will be weird because of this upcoming weekend, so yeah. Still, though, I hope it was good.

Leave your comments!

And thank you fro taking the time to do them! :)


	28. A Bar

Chapter 28: A Bar

CORA

There are days when being a college student is great. Today isn't one of those days. Honestly, it started out all right – I got my car back, talked to Jim's principal, even managed to talk to my insurance guys; it was all going good, but I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following me. I even got so creeped out that I didn't leave the auditorium for almost 30 minutes. Being in pre-med, my next class was a lab, and I had to do a dissection of a goat brain. I was in a group of three, and when I started to do my part, my fingers were shaking so bad I thought I that I was going to slip up. But brains are pretty tough, and everything turned out fine.

I still couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following me. My heart kept beating hard, thinking that Creepy Guy would come out of the shadows somewhere. I've never be so paranoid. I mean, it's ridiculous, right? Why would someone be following me? Why would _that_ guy _still_ be following me? How the hell would he even know where I go to _school_?

Dammit, I have to focus. I got get to my manager hat on; I'm not Cora the Student now – I'm Cora the Manager. Oh look – someone needs me.

And they're screaming at the cashier. Great.

"What's the problem here, sir?" He's a young guy – a college kid, dressed in gym shorts and a Giants football jersey. He's not big, but he looks pissed.

"What's the problem? _What's the problem?!_ I spent $300 on these two books, and now this bitch right here is telling me that I can only get $20 if I sell them back! _**Are you fucking kidding me?!**_"

His veins are popping out of his neck, and his cheeks are red. This guy is gonna get violent. "Sir, you need to calm down-"

"Calm down?! Don't you fucking tell me to calm down!"

"Sir, I'm going to have to call security, and they'll take you to jail. Do you want that?"

"Fuck you!"

He takes a wide swing at me, and I'm sure he swings fast; he's wiry and skinny, so…he should throw a quick punch. For some reason, though, I can see his fist coming at me in slow-motion…almost snail-like, reminding me of the days I used to play softball and hit the ball every time. I step sideways, easily and effortlessly. And then I call security, 'coz this guy is fucking crazy and he's going to hurt somebody.

As the security guys drag him out, he starts screaming; foaming at the mouth –and crap, did his eyes turn _gold_? The store's cat – they call him Dewey for the Dewey Decimal System – jumps on the counter and starts hissing at the guy, reminding me of the crap that happened yesterday with Rachel. That freaks me out, but then the guy actually starts _saying_ stuff – actual _words_ and phrases in his incoherent nonsense, and a sentence sticks out to me:

"We will ruin you, daughter of Ceres!"

When he says that name, I immediately start to get a huge head-splitting headache. I lean back against the counter for support as images flash across my mind's eye – a face; a woman's proud smile…Mom? An uncertain look from frosty blue eyes. Hank? Then there's a piercing sharp pain that rips through my skull. I've never had a migraine before, but this a helluva time to get one.

"Yo, Cora, you alright?"

I rub my temples, nod. "Yeah I'm fine." I head into the office, take some Tylenol, and my headache decides to get worse. Fuck me. I look at my watch and breathe a sigh of relief when I realize that my shift is almost done. One more hour. I can do this.

Dewey weaves through my legs, almost tripping me. Now I remember why I don't really like cats.

"Go away, Dewey."

He meows, jumping up on a shelf in the office and knocking down a few books.

I roll my eyes. "Thanks, Dewey." He flicks his tail, jumping off of the shelf and heading back out into the store. I crouch down, picking up the books. Their covers looked like they've been ripped off. I frown. I hate it when kids rip off the covers of the books. I look at the titles on the front pages, and one is a small encyclopedia on world myths, which looks sort of interesting, and another is a book on dreams, and that one looks_ really_ interesting.

I pick it up, looking at the index and going straight to the section on nightmares and night terrors. Hank is a heavy sleeper, and he's woken me up more than once with his bad dreams, shaking and moaning like he's…being tortured or something. It's _scary_. The worst part is, I can't always wake him up from whatever he's going through in his sleep. Sometimes water won't even work, and I feel… useless and helpless at not being able to comfort him. I skim the section, and I know have to have the book, if only to try and understand what he goes through. I pick up the book on myths for Jim. I'm sure he'll need it for school at some point.

I leave the office and ask: "Hey, do any of you guys want these books? Their covers are missing."

Everybody shakes their heads, and that makes my day just a little brighter.

One more hour.

I can do this.

HADES

"You drink, Pluto?"

"Sometimes." The bourbon burns as it goes down my throat. There's a heavy pat on my back, and I hear Poseidon's throaty laugh at my side. He is drunk. I will be soon if I continue.

Hel nods, flittering off with Hestia to some other part of the hotel. Odin almost immediately replaces her, winking as he sits down and ordering a drink called an "All-Irish Black And Tan". Poseidon's hand is no longer on my shoulder; his voice is no longer in my ear. He is no longer by my side.

Odin pulls out a cigar, lighting it with a wave of his hand. "It seems your brother found a nice young woman to get comfortable with."

I nod, keeping my eyes on my drink. "What did she look like?"

"Dark skin, and hair; fair eyes-"

"That's Amphitrite."

"Who?"

"His wife."

"Ah." I take another sip of the bourbon, feeling the pleasant burn in my stomach and the blissful numbness begin to take over in my body.

Odin is given his drink, which he lightly sips. "What happened to your leg?"

"How did you lose your eye?"

I do not look at him, but from the corner of my eye, I can see him grinning. "I didn't lose it. I know _exactly _where it is. So, the question still remains – what happened to your leg?"

Finishing my bourbon, I order another drink. "Ask Zeus if you really want to know."

Odin winks his good eye at me. "You're quite stubborn, aren't you?"

"I try."

Odin smiles. "One of these days, you'll tell me. I'm sure Loki will ask you how you beat Thor – I'm still wondering that myself. He's been sulking for the past two hours. Ah, but no matter - he'll find some beautiful women and be fine in the morning. But look at me, rambling, while one of your beautiful sisters obviously wants to speak with you. Another time," he nods at me and smirks, slightly raising his drink, "Hades Aidoneus Clymenus Polydectes. Ta." And then he leaves, and I feel an angry presence on my right.

I shut my eyes, breathe out slowly. "I thought you didn't want to talk, Demeter."

"And I thought you were 'responsible'. Look at you; do you want to replace Dionysus?"

I shake my head, rubbing my throbbing thigh. "What do you want?" Just as I am about to take another drink, Demeter grabs the glass away from me, forcing me to look at her. This woman is infuriating.

"I want to see my daughter and grandchild."

I can feel monstrous anger begin to build up in my chest. "No, absolutely not."

"She is _my_ daughter, and he is _my_ grandchild! You cannot deny me my right, Hades."

I stand, putting my face close to Demeter's. I am not yelling, but my voice is dangerous. I can hear my own rage boiling underneath the surface. "She is _my_ wife – _**my wife**_, who you let suffer in this world. Do you have any idea what _you've_ _**done**_ to her?"

Demeter clenches her jaw, and I am dimly aware of the bartender calling for security. "What _**I've**_ done to her? _**You're the reason she died! You're the reason she's suffered so much! You, Hades.**_ If you hadn't taken her, _**none**_ of this would have happened. You _**destroyed **_her. **_You_**. "

I clench my fists. I have never been so close to striking her. And I _hate_ her, because she's _right_.

It is all my fault.

**_All of it._**

I take in a deep breath, feeling my control coming back.

"You cannot see her, or the boy."

As I turn and begin to walk out, I see the security heading towards us. Demeter's laugh follows me as I reach the exit of the hotel bar. "And the boy, what is he to _**you**_, Hades?" That makes me stop, and I almost turn my head to look back at her. I do not though, nor do I answer.

"_What is he to you?! HADES, ANSWER ME!_"

I know what he is to me, and yet-

I am… afraid to say it.

Why am I afraid to say it?

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the typos and taking forever to write a new chapter. I'll go back and fix as many mistakes as I can, I promise. I promise. Hope ya'll liked it. As always, leave me your thoughts in the comments section.


	29. You Meet The Dragon

Chapter 29: You Meet The Dragon

JIM

When Hades picks me up from school, he seems just as pissed as he was in the morning. His brows are furrowed and his jaw is set somethin' fierce, and I don't wanna push my luck –

So I don't say anything.

He breathes out really loud through his nose, and his voice sounds really clipped and controlled when he says, "No questions now?"

"Uh…" Folkvarthr, help me out here, cat…. Seriously, you're _not_ going to answer me now?

We come to a red light, and he flexes his grip on the steering wheel. He turns his head to me. "You said you wanted to talk, Jim." Yeah – there's a shit-ton we have to talk about.

"…Well yeah, I do…you still wanna train today?"

He smirks a little at that, so I guess that's good. It's better than having an ancient deity drive pissed off.

"Of course."

So we drive to the docks again, but this time he doesn't practice with me. Instead, he has me run around the docks for 20 minutes and then makes me do pull ups and sit ups and leg lifts and a shit-ton of other exercises. And that's the fucking _warm-up_.

After all that – almost 45 minutes of it – he finally has me take the wooden sword from my backpack. And Folkvarthr comes out too. Great timing, asshole cat. _My species is mostly nocturnal, James. I was sleeping. _Whatever.

Hades leans against the side of his car, nodding at me. "Whaddya want me to do, man? Just swing the fuckin' thing?"

He raises an eyebrow and smiles, nodding. Well, shit. I guess I'll do just that. I swing and swing, stepping in different directions but being careful not to cross my feet. The whole time, Hades watches, giving me pointers on what to do. He reminds me of a boxing coach. It's kinda cool.

I'm not sure where Folkvarthr is, but it doesn't matter. I'm just going with the flow; letting my feet take me, striking in a rhythm through the air. Maybe there's form to it; maybe there isn't, I don't know. I don't really think about it – I just _do_. At one point, I swing the sword like a baseball bat and Hades catches it with his hand.

"That's enough. You're starting to get sloppy."

I'm breathin' hard and sweating – tired as hell, and I've got a lot of homework to do, so I nod and nod and walk back on shaky legs to the car. I guess he doesn't care that I'm going to get sweat all over the passenger seat. Folkvarthr sits on my lap as we drive.

"Jim."

"Yeah?"

"What did you want to talk about?"

He seems a little more relaxed now – his knuckles aren't white on the steering wheel. I'm not sure how long that'll last when I tell him.

I tell him anyway – about the figure Viola showed me, and the symbols on the wall, and sure enough – he starts to tense right the fuck up. He listens the entire time, though. I…don't tell him about Alex, but I'm pretty sure he knows I'm leaving something out. _He does_. Shut up, cat.

"So…uh, it's kinda funny – we're gonna be reading _The Odyssey_ in my English class."

He laughs a little, turning at the next light. The sun is beginning to set, leaving streaks of gold and red in the clouds above us.

"Is that so?"

Folkvarthr meows, closing his eyes and falling asleep again on my lap as I scratch the top of his head. Lazyass.

"Yeah – maybe you can give me some history?" 'Course, it's only a joke, but fuck – he cocks his head to the side and scratches his beard, like he's _actually_ thinkin' about it.

"I never much liked heroes."

"…Not even Hercules?"

He gives me a strange look when I say that. "No, not even Heracles. I find it interesting that you call him 'Hercules' – why is that?"

I shrug, but inside I'm grinnin' like crazy. "It's from that movie I told you about a couple days ago."

"I see."

Boy, I gotta get my mom to rent it. I won't be able to stop laughing if he watches it.

"Yeah. So…why don't you like Hercules?"

He sighs, and we come to a red light. "He shot me."

"Woah. Wait – seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Holy shit – why, though?"

"He needed to take Cerberus to complete one of those ridiculous trials my sister had him doing – I can't remember which – so he came storming into my throne room, and shot me right in the chest," he starts laughing then, and I'm confused because how the _fuck_ could someone shooting you be _funny_? He keeps going, "He found out later that if he just _asked_, I would have _let_ him take Cerberus."

I shake my head, and I'm smiling too now, 'coz for all the scary shit I've ever heard about this guy – the scary shit I've seen him do – he ain't that bad. He really ain't.

"Tell me more," I say. I…wanna know.

He turns his head, gives me a warm smile. "How about this – I'll tell you a story after each time you train."

We come to another red light, and he holds his right hand out to me. "Deal?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Deal," I say, shaking his hand. "And Hades?"

"Hmm?"

"You _gotta _teach me how you do that with your eyebrows."

He chuckles, hearty and almost carefree, but I can that he's still thinkin' about stuff underneath the surface. Really, really important stuff.

"Of course, Jimbo. Of course."

I shake my head, smiling. "You're the only one who can call me that. Don't tell my mom – she still calls me Jimmy sometimes and one nickname from her is enough."

He gives my shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze, and there's a feeling that surges up in my chest and I have no idea what the fuck it is.

"You did well today," he says, letting go of my shoulder, "Jimbo." And he winks, and a part of me feels proud.

"Thanks."

And when we drive and reach the brownstone, and he follows behind me, I feel like someone's got my back. More than Alex; more than my brothers in the gang. Like, I dunno – this feels…_real_? _More_ real? I don't fucking know, but it's a good feeling.

A _great_ feelin'.

Cora

When Hank walks in with Jim, he's smiling, but he seems distracted. I try to give him a look – something that asks him what's wrong – but he just shakes his head, looking resigned. He won't look me in the eye, either…and that worries me.

"…Hey guys…there's Chinese takeout in the kitchen." Jim runs straight into the restroom and I can hear the water start running. I hope he has a set of PJs to change into in there. Hank takes off his suit jacket, starts heading upstairs.

"You're not hungry, Hank?" He pauses on the stairs and turns to look at me. He's thinking about something, I can tell. He shakes his head, giving me a small smile; barely noticeable, but there, and he says, "I had a big lunch. I…have some work to do right now."

Man, he looks tired. I nod. "Okay, Hank. Let me know if you need anything." And then he heads the rest of the way upstairs. About 10 minutes later Jim comes out of the bathroom, furiously drying his hair. He points at me.

He cocks his head to the side, and he…sort of reminds me of Hank when he does it. "Where'd you get the new laptop?"

"Insurance – you got one too. I'm writing up a paper for a class."

"Shit – sorry Mom – I gotta write a paper too. World History. " I grin at him.

"Check the room," I say.

He smirks. "After I eat." I still have to work out a few things with my insurance guys, but things are looking alright for now. I still won't have enough for an apartment for a while – a month at least.

But things aren't looking so hopeless now.

Jim goes in the guestroom, with Hades following close behind – where has that cat _been_? – and I hear him start typing away. After two hours, I see his light turn off from underneath the door, and I realize that I've been working on this paper for almost four hours straight, and my forearms are starting to feel sore. Carpal Tunnel is definitely something I don't need right now, so I put away the books and articles I've collected, stop writing.

I walk upstairs and into Hank's room, where I see him sitting with his head on his desk. I try to wake him, lightly shaking his shoulder.

"Hey Hank," I say, "It's almost 10:00." He still won't wake up. I rub his back in circles. "Hank, babe, c'mon." You don't want to fall asleep at your desk Hank, seriously.

Finally – _finally_ – he wakes up, groggy and confused, and a bit startled too. When he lifts his head, I catch a quick glimpse of a letter he was writing, but I don't see it long enough to actually read it. He actually does hand-written letters. I guess I shouldn't be _that _surprised…the guy shaves with a _straight razor_. I found it in the bathroom this morning, sitting neatly in a kit filled with four others, in slightly different shapes and sizes. The handles were silver. Talk about fancy.

On top of everything else, he's _still_ in his suit. He sits back in his chair, rubbing his eyes and yawning, and I smile because he's kind of adorable. "You must have been doing _really _fascinating stuff."

He smiles a little bit at that, but he still seems distracted. "Obviously."

Some of the hair he slicked back this morning has fallen out of place, in front of his eyes and over his ears again. I reach my hand down, touch his stubbled cheek, and he shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw.

"You okay?"

Breathing out rough and raspy, he nods. He stands, hissing a little bit as he gets up and he kisses me, holding my face with his hands. He leans his forehead against mine, and he says, "I had a very long day." Yeah, you look it, Hank.

"Do you…want to talk about it?" He shakes his head. What's going on, Hank? What's got you so upset?

His jaw is still clenched underneath the palm of my hand. "Hey…you can tell me, dork." He smiles, puts shaking hands on my waist and leans his forehead against mine.

"I can."

"But?"

He kisses my nose. "I won't."

I laugh, running my fingers through his hair. "Fine, Hank. C'mere, let me help you get out of that suit of yours." Damn, I'm terrible at flirting. Not being in a relationship for almost 13 years makes you rusty.

We kiss, and I manage to back him up until the backs of his knees are touching the edge of our bed. Woah, woah – not _our_ bed – _his_ bed. Cool it down, Cora.

I push him down against the bed, and he grunts, surprised. Maybe a little annoyed too, but that makes me grin. We keep kissing, with me on top, and I'm having fun but he still seems distracted, so I stop.

"Hank?"

He's looking at me really weird – almost like he's in pain, and he shakes his head. "I'm sorry Cora – I can't." Can't? He kisses me, softly and lovingly, and so I guess it's not outright rejection. After that, things are a little awkward between us. He changes into his sweats and t-shirt, and I change too. We go to bed, and he holds me in his arms, kissing the top of my back and in my sleepy state I can hear him whispering things. Words like "sorry" and "fault" and some delusional part of me thinks I even hear him say the word "love". Wishful thinking, most definitely.

When I fall asleep, the mysterious stranger of my dreams isn't there with me.

HADES

"Woohoo hoo, listen to those screams, boys. You're not as quiet as everyone says you are, eh, Dis? Y'know, I've been watching you for a while now, but it's never been so easy to get into your head until tonight." There is laughter surrounding me – a cacophony of sadistic pleasure.

I cannot see anything – I can only _feel_. And all there is to feel is agony.

Am I sitting? Am I standing? I can't tell. "Who – who are you?"

"Me? Oh, I'm the guy who's gonna ruin you old gods. Right-hand man to the Boss Lady. By the way, your buddy Morpheus has Swiss Cheese security. I just walked into your dream, pulled you out, and put you in mine. I was gonna head into Jim's dream – "

"Don't you dare-" There is a heavy hit to my stomach, and I hear bones cracking as the wind is knocked from me.

"I don't think you're getting' the rules here, buddy. You see, you're in _my _dream. I can do whatever I want to you or to Jim or your… _hot_ girlfriend." Fingers dig into my body, where my bones have been broken and I try and fail to keep a groan from escaping my lips.

"I could pluck out those pretty blue eyes of yours in this dream, but something just tells me that it won't be as satisfying as doing it in the waking world. Maybe I'll just watch you torture yourself, hmmm?" A blade has been stuck into my abdomen, and he twists it. This is a dream. This is only a dream.

"Oooh, but I do _love_ those sounds that you make. I'm going to have lots of fun with you and Jimmy."

"_**Don't touch him,**_" I hiss. There is only darkness.

He twists the blade again, and I know the pathetic whimpering is coming from me. "I like this knife, Hades. Specially made for you gods – too bad I can't _actually_ use it on you. Yet. But I have something better in mind for you right now. Watching you squirm – it gets me all hot and heavy, ha ha ha. But I gotta say, fucking with your dreams may be just as fun."

"Who _are_ you?"

He twists the blade again, and I can feel and smell his breath against my cheek. "Well, _Hank_, you can call _me_ Amon. And as "_Amon"_, I must say that I'm going to enjoy watching you suffer. Get to it."

Color begins to swirl with the black in front of my eyes, and soon I see myself, bleeding and… _dying_ and –

In her arms. We are surrounded by my family, panicked and confused and she is weeping for me. And then I see it – the decision she makes, and her body begins to glow…begins to _disintegrate_, right in front of my eyes, as my own body that was once in her arms begins to heal. She has died, because of me.

Because of the terrible choices I made.

I feel the world collapsing around me.

Gone.

Gone.

She is _gone_.

_**Forever**_.

_**And it is all my fault**_.

CORA

This is a bad one. He was talking in his sleep; incoherent, mostly, but I did catch a few words. They weren't in English.

He's scratching at himself, twisting and turning his head and his forehead is drenched in sweat. And…

He's…crying. I sit up, leaning against some pillows, and I gently touch his shoulder; try to wake him up. It doesn't wake him, but it does seem to calm him down.

I run my fingers gently through his hair, and he holds onto me, crying. "Shhh, it's okay. You're okay."

His grip gets tighter, tighter, tighter, and I rub circles on his back. He says a name – so low I can't catch all of it, but I think it starts with a "P" and then –

I hear my own name. "Shhh, shhh, shhh; I'm here, Hank. I'm right here."

And after a while, he starts to calm down, and his breathing starts to steady, and tonight instead of him holding me, _I_ hold _him_.

Because that's what we do –

We protect each other.

* * *

A/N:

Hey guys! I'll try to get a new chapter out by Thursday, maybe sooner. :) I hope you liked this chapter. Next will be plot, and a little bit of a time-skip. I appreciate everyone who reviews, and if you have any questions, just PM me.

Thank you all; leave your thoughts and suggestions like always! :)


	30. Nightmares Become Reality

Chapter 30: Nightmares Become Reality

HADES

My body aches and my head pounds. I can feel blood dripping down the side of my temple from a cut that has curiously not yet healed. A black bag has been tied over my head, reeking of vomit and fear. It is difficult for me to breathe; it is impossible for me to see. My hands are bound in front of me, and the cuffs are strong enough to hold even with all of my struggling. I cannot stop walking, no matter how much my leg protests without my cane or staff to support me. Still, I stumble; my foot catching on what I think is a boulder…or body, and they laugh around me. One, impossible to tell which, managers to grab my hair through the bag over my head and roughly pulls me up.

This is not a dream.

I cannot wake up.

_Cora_…_ Jim…_

I'm sorry.

JIM

Oh God, what the fuck have I _done_? Viola…oh fuck **_why_**?!

Okay, calm down Jim. Think this through. How did I get here?

…How do I get out?

Things were going good, I remember that. Hades would train me every day, and I could feel myself getting stronger; better with the sword, and even with my powers. Every day he'd look a little more tired; with darker circles under his eyes than the day before. But he kept his promise – after every training session, he'd tell me a story. They were never really about him though…he kept stuff about him close to himself.

So one night after a short practice, we were sitting on the edge of the docks, and the sun was lookin' really pretty, setting, and leaving streaks of purples and oranges and blues in the sky and on the water.

"So Hades…what was it like…you know…" I wasn't really sure how to ask it. I mean, we'd gone over the story a bunch of times in middle school, and again in my English class so we could prepare for _The Odyssey_…but I wanted to hear it from him.

He looked exhausted, and he sighed, like he knew what I was gonna ask about. Come to think of it… he probably did. He adjusted his tie – he stopped dressing uber-formally, but he was always in business clothes after that second day of training. I had feeling it was about the new gods and old gods stuff…but he was always touchy on the subject. Saying I wasn't ready to know more yet. Saying it was for my protection.

A part of me didn't like that.

Another part of me trusted him.

So he leaned back and scratched his beard, raising a dark brow in contemplation. I remember his eyes taking on a glassy, almost dead look as he reached for his oldest memories.

"It was dark," he said. "And wet. A bit like a cave, actually."

"Were you…scared?"

His lips curled a bit at that, and he nodded a little. "Scared? I was, most definitely. Then I heard my sister's voice…and I remember…not being scared any longer." And he blinked, and that was that. He wouldn't tell me anymore then.

He probably never will now.

_If he's even still alive._

Shut the fuck up, Jim. Just shut the fuck up.

Then he got up, slowly because his leg was botherin' more and more, and he told me to stand too.

"Hold out your hands. Facing up, that's right," he said.

"What's goin' on?"

"I have something for you."

My jaw must've been hangin' really low, 'coz he smiled, and for a king of dead people, he sure smiles a lot, don't he?

"You do?"

"Close your eyes." I did, screwin' them shut tight.

And then I felt something heavy being placed in my hands. The texture felt like leather. Really, really expensive leather.

"You can open them now." And I did, and when I looked down, I could feel my eyes bulging out from my head.

It was a sword. I took it out of its scabbard, and the blade made that awesome "swoosh" sound you hear in movies. A short sword, beautiful and shining and perfectly balanced.

And it's not like I've ever really been much into swords before, but this felt important. It was mine.

"It's time for you to start practicing with that," he said, pride and a touch of something else in his voice. "You're becoming quite the capable hero."

I put the sword back in its scabbard, and then I did something I thought I'd never do in a million years.

I fucking hugged the guy. He seemed just as surprised as I was. At the back of my mind, I was kinda afraid that it would piss him off and he'd incinerate me, but I felt those strong arms wrap around me, pat my back.

Probably because I started crying like a little bitch. I know I must've ruined his shirt, but he didn't seem to fuckin' care. He just let me cry; let me wail and wail like a baby until I couldn't anymore and my fingers were sore from gripping onto the back of his shirt like it was my only life-line left.

And then we went home, and let me tell you, I've never seen my mom as happy as she's been this past month. Her face just lights up when she sees him, and his face lights up when he sees her. He's waited 4,000 years for her, just for her.

_And now he may be dead_. _Just like Vi – _

No, shut the **_fuck_** up, Jim Wells.

So things were going well; Folkvarthr would come to school with me, and I'd chill with Viola at lunch when she wasn't doin' somethin' with her cheerleading friends. Those days I'd read, and Folkvarthr would sit on my lap. Dave Cousins wouldn't get near me, especially now since I was starting to pack on some heavy duty muscle. One kid said I was roiding, but I wasn't getting that big, honestly. Mostly cut.

Actually, I was startin' to look a bit like the King of Death; leaner, stronger. Deadlier.

But I guess the roiding rumors came mostly from the fact that I was gaining all that muscle so fast. I was changing; my powers were growing. Instead of just growing plants…I was starting to channel electricity between my fingertips. Not a lot, but it was fucking noticeable enough for me to have to hide it. And it was blue.

So yeah, things were going fine – hell, my grades even started to get good – but then, Alex called me, and I knew things were done. I wasn't gonna kill someone, I told myself. I would go to Alex, tell him I'm out, and run from there like a bat outta hell if he had any problems with it. I mean, they let guys leave, right? A guy named Jack left a while back, and he turned out fine…

That's what I told myself, anyway.

I could tell Hades knew something was off. I'm sure he knew all along. When I tried to sneak out at 3:00 in the morning that second Saturday in October, he was standing there, leaning on his cane. Folkvarthr was there too.

"Uh…hiya, Hades. I was just, uh, getting some water."

He cocked his head to the side, and in the low light I could see one of his damn eyebrows arching. "Is that so?"

I had my backpack slung over my shoulder, and I nodded, even though I knew – I fucking _knew_ – that he knew I was lying.

He shook his head, and I could feel his energy turn black and angry. "I know where you're going, Jim. Stop lying."

For some reason, that got me really pissed off. " How the fuck do you know where I'm going, huh? Are you psychic? I thought that was your Abercrombie model nephew."

"What?"

"Folkvarthr told you, didn't he? He fucking lied about being asleep." My fists were clenched really fucking tight, and I could feel my nails digging deeply into my skin.

"No, Jim," he said, shaking his head. "I've just known. You don't have to do this."

"You don't understand," I said, tears forming at the edges of my eyes. I wasn't going to kill anyone. I was gonna get out.

"They're never going to let you leave, Jim. They'll force you to kill someone."

I shook my head, clenched my jaw. "You don't even fucking know them!" I screamed, and by then I knew my mom was up; probably wondering what all the commotion was.

Hades narrowed his eyes. "Jim – "

Alex, as much of a prick he'd been to me lately, was my brother.

Almost a father.

And that relationship couldn't mean nothing. He would let me out, if I asked in person. He'd at least do that for me. I'd be free. "No, fuck you, man. You think you can just – just fucking **_show up_** in our lives and make everything better? You think that you can just **_make_** her fucking love you, and that everything will be **_okay_**? Well, everything is not okay, man. You are not Mr. Fix Everything, and you wanna know something else? You're **_not_** my fucking **_father_**, so **_stop_** trying to act like you are. You aren't, and you **_never_** fucking will be."

He stood there, frozen like a statue, and Folkvathr did too, for once in his goddamn cat-life not saying anything. I could hear my mom rustling upstairs, probably calling the cops or something. I walked to the front door on shaky legs, feeling like I'd just ripped my heart from my own fucking chest and stuck it in a woodchipper. Hades appeared in front of me suddenly, giving me the hardest look I'd ever seen him give. Even harder than the look he gave me when we first met, when he went through my wallet, and found out who I was.

"Get out of my way, Hades," I said.

"Don't make me hurt you, boy."

And I dunno, but something in me snapped. I could feel electricity pulsing at the edges of my fingertips, and I balled my right hand into a fist, and I punched, harder and faster than I have ever punched anyone before.

And I got him, square on the jaw, and he went flying back into the wall by the front door, with the side of his cheek charred and black. I could smell burning flesh, but when I looked back at him I could see that it was already starting to heal. I could hear my mom screaming, running down the stairs yelling, "Jim!"

But it was too late. I fucked over this family, and I was about to say no to another. I was lost.

HADES

Light blinds me as they take off the bag covering my head. My arms have been chained to the ceiling, and I hang there; the cuffs gnawing into my skin and drawing fresh ichor.

"I know I'm hot, but you can stop blinking now."

"I can't see." My voice is rough and raw, and it hurts to talk. There is a snap of someone's fingers, and the lights are dimmed. The walls surrounding me are covered with brown and green grime, and the now-dimmed lights flicker over me.

The torturer from my nightmares comes into view. Amon.

He walks up close to me, lightly patting my cheek. I can smell his breath; sickeningly sweet.

"Recognize me?"

"Amon." He runs his fingers down the side of my temple, where my cut still bleeds. He brings his fingers to his mouth, and his violet eyes roll back. He is as beautiful as he is terrible.

"Damn, you _do_ taste good. I thought you'd be as bitter as War. But oh no – you taste like pain. Fire and ice. _Delicious_." A lock of raven-black hair falls in front of his eyes and he grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger. Then he kisses me, forcing his tongue into my mouth, and I can feel his consciousness probe through mine. _Ohh, sooo many bad memories. So much pain to exploit. Ahhh yes, Polydectes – I am going to __**enjoy**__ playing with you. You and I are going to have so much __**fun**__ together. _

I manage to bite his tongue, and I hear a surprised yelp come from him. He wipes his mouth, smiling. "A fighter, eh? I'll break you soon enough. What should we start with first, hmm?" His fingers trace around my eyes, and I can feel my heart hammering in my chest. "Those pretty, pretty blue eyes of yours. I've been fantasizing about this for a while, you see. Thing is, now that I have you, I'm not quite sure what to start with. I guess I could go for the obvious." He grabs my groin in a crushing hold, and I almost retch. "Hmmm. Or I could go for that terrible injury that haunts your every waking day." His hand moves to my thigh, and he squeezes so tightly that his long nails cut through my jeans and deeply into my skin. This time, I do retch, and he must know its coming, because he sidesteps the sick easily, keeping his black suit impeccably clean. He smiles. "Ah yes, Hades. I am definitely going to have fun with you. And guess what?" he leans in close to my ear, "you sent the boy right to us. The one he calls Alex will intercept him soon, and **_everything_** you have done will be for **_nothing_**." He squeezes my thigh again, and for a moment I lose consciousness, only to come back with the same terrible agony in my leg.

This is it.

I am going to die here.

CORA

"Listen to me, babe, we'll find them. The police are looking right now. Everything will be okay, babe. Everything." Rachel is holding my hands in hers, and Bobby is rubbing my shoulders. They're gone – both of them.

Hank.

_Jim_.

Even the fucking cat is gone. How could it all have gone so wrong so fast? I should've known that this fairytale was too good to be true. The perfect man coming into my life. Jim having someone to look up to. I should've known. How could I have been so _stupid_?

I woke up to the sounds of yelling, and when I came downstairs Jim was already out of the door, and Hank was unconscious on the floor. I rushed to him, and his cheek was burned to a crisp.

"Hank! Oh my God. I'm gonna need an ambulance too – someone's been badly burned –" I stopped, because Hank's skin was healing right before my eyes.

"Ma'am? Ma'am, are you alright?"

Hell to the no. "Yes."

"We're sending people over right away, ma'am. Stay on the line."

Hank was coming to then, rubbing away the rest of the charred, black skin on his pale face, revealing perfectly healed skin underneath. He gripped onto me. "Where's Jim?" His words came out slurred and slow.

"He just ran out. I called the cops. What the _fuck_ is going on Hank?" He started to get up on wobbly legs. He was already dressed in a button-down shirt and jeans. Was he _expecting_ Jim to do this?

He started to walk out the door, and I grabbed him on the shoulder. "Hank, what the fuck is going on? Tell me!" Why did your face just magically heal? Why has my son – my beautiful, precious boy –run away? Did you _do_ something to him? Hank? I didn't get a chance to ask him any of that. He turned around and kissed me, hard, like it was the last kiss we'd ever share. "I'll explain everything when I come back. Right now I need to find Jim."

"Hank, don't go. Please." I needed him there, couldn't he see that?

He pressed his forehead against mine. "You need to trust me, Cora." And he kissed me again, this time more softly. He took off in his car to look for Jim, leaving me alone in the house. The cat wasn't even there with me; probably choosing this time to escape.

The police came, and I called Rachel and Bobby and they came to support me even though it was 4:00 in the morning. Now it's almost 10:00 and neither Hank or Jim have been found.

An officer gets off of the phone and walks up to me. From the look on the officer's face, I can already tell it's bad news. Then he says the words, and my heart drops from my chest.

JIM

I made it pretty far – I can run pretty fast now. Almost as fast as a car, as ridiculous as that sounds. Hades managed to catch up with me.

"Jim!" he yelled, poking his head out of the window of his car.

Naturally, I flipped him off. I kept running, but then I felt something that made me stop dead in my tracks. I turned around, and Hades was stopped too. There were no other cars on the road except for his; no other people on the sidewalk except for me. Then I felt it; thousands of …gods… powerful – fucking amazingly powerful – but raw and wild, surrounding us. And then I could see them, and when I looked up I almost died, because in the arms of one of the gods, was Viola.

My girlfriend.

My bestfriend.

The fricking love of my life.

"**_Jim!_**" she screamed. All I could think about was what would happen if the guy dropped her. He was wearing a black suit, but he had a mask on, and I couldn't see his face.

"Behold, Aether Soul! Watch as everything you hold dear is **_destroyed_**." And then he dropped her – no, **_threw_** her – towards the ground, from 30 fucking feet in the air and at a speed so fast she couldn't even say half of the word "help" before her body crashed into the ground. And I could feel it –_ feel_ her life leaving her body; could fucking see her soul leaving her body, and all I could think was that that didn't just fucking happen. Viola Guerrero didn't just fucking _die_.

_But she did_.

**_Shut the fuck up, Jim Wells. Stop fucking talking you goddamn idiot._**

And then I felt Hades by my side, instantly. The gods were still floating the air, laughing, and I could hear someone screaming really fucking loud in my ears. I …think it was me. Hades put something on my head. "Run," he said, and I did, like a fucking coward. I didn't need to run past Viola. I knew it was her; felt it was her; saw it was her as she kicked and screamed in the masked man's arms 30 feet from the ground. I ran, and when I looked back through the tears in my eyes, I could see Hades fighting the gods. He did pretty damn well for a while, and apartment buildings were beginning to be turned into piles of rubble and oh my God all those fucking people that must've died. Someone managed to knock him down, and from miles away, I could see hundreds of gods pile on top of him, and I thought, this is it.

The war has started. Hades is dead.

My girlfriend is dead.

I take off the cap Hades put on my head, leaning back against the wall of a nearby alleyway, and I fucking cry like a bitch. I've **_fucked_** up.

"Jim?"

That startles me, and I get up, ready to fucking fight.

Ready to fucking _kill_.

And then Alex comes into view. "Relax, Little Slugger, it's just me." He smiles, and a look that used to comfort me; used to encourage me, sends shivers done my spine. "Let's go home," he says. I destroyed my home.

There's nothing else left for me.

I follow him.

* * *

A/N: First of all, I would like to apologize for taking two weeks to get this out. I promised a new chapter a while ago, and only have this to give, so again I apologize.

Please though, leave me your thoughts. :P


	31. Who Am I?

A/N: A fair warning here, folks. Things are about to get very dark. Now, things have always been a bit dark, but for the next few chapters, there is going to be quite a bit of torture. Believe me, it all has plot relevance; but for some people it may be too much. I know that I cannot watch movies like Saw or Hostel or things like that, and to read it, let alone write it, makes me quite uncomfortable. But it's important for plot and character development, so it's here, and will be here for the next few chapters. Just bear with me, and I promise it will be over soon.

* * *

Chapter 31: Who Am I?

HADES

"Take off his shirt."

The fabric is ripped from my arms and chest. The other gods around me, all masked, laugh.

"I finally get to see it in person," Amon breathes, disturbing ecstasy on his face. His cold hands run up and down the side of my chest and abdomen, where the scar from my curse stretches out in long, spiraling tendrils. "It's beautiful." He drags his long nails down my skin, and I do my best not to hiss as fresh cuts are made down the length of my body.

"Bring my toys. Don't forget the – you know what? We'll save the special stuff for later," he orders, smiling as he continues to drag his nails across my skin. Two of the other masked gods in the room nod and leave. They return shortly, bringing a set of surgical-looking tools. My chest hurts.

My heart is about to burst through.

Amon places his ear to my chest, inhaling there. "You smell like fear," he says. I _am _afraid.

I…do not want to die.

"You have a strong heart," he whispers, a pleased lilt in his voice. He pouts, "Too bad I can't tear it out. The Lady wants me to keep you alive. For now."

Somehow, I find my voice; though it comes out cracked and raw. "What do you… want with me?"

He smirks, turning from me and heading towards his tools. "That's for me to know," he says, picking up a glinting instrument, and he says something else, but all I can hear is my own beating heart, rushing in my ears.

Despite that, he speaks loud enough for me to hear his next words: "Don't you worry, Hades. I'll get the information I want soon enough. For now, let's have some fun."

He smirks. "Break his ribs, boys." Punches and kicks assail me, strong and damaging, and I feel my bones crack each time. My body is not healing, and I can feel _everything_. My vision has become blurry and my senses alight, and Amon signals for the gods to stop as he walks back towards me again.

He puts the knife in front of my face. "See this? 'Course you do. Know what I'm gonna do with this?"

My breathing is shallow, and I inhale sharply as I shake my head and a wave of pain rolls through me.

He smiles, his sweet breath washing over my face. "I'm gonna use this to break you." He stabs the blade into my stomach, twisting it, and the world around me turns black.

I see my father, smiling cruelly, but then something puzzles him. He walks towards me, and is that…_concern_, on his face? No, impossible.

"Aidoneus?"

With every breath I take, agony ripples through my body. "Father-" Something is choking me, and I feel cold and…wet. There is a sharp slap to my face, and I am brought back to the waking world, shaking and covered in sweat and freezing water.

"Ah-ta-ta, Polydectes, you're not passing out on me yet. Tell me something, what gave you that scar, hmmm? That pretty slice across your face?"

I shake my head, and my vision swims. "Answer me, Hades." He twists the blade again, driving deeper into my abdomen. "Answer me."

Another twist, and I hear my voice, guttural and weak, groan. "Fucking **_answer_** me!"

He stabs me again, this time close to my navel, and slices upward; opening a large, deep wound. I look down, and see my blood trailing down my stomach in large rivers. I am going to die.

I am going to die **_here_**.

"…E-**_enough!_**"

He smiles, and his teeth are sharp. "Are you going to answer me?" He sticks his hand into the open hole in my stomach, grinning all the way, and I can feel my consciousness begin to slip away once more.

"**_Yes_**_!_"

"What gave you the scar, Hades?" he breathes, licking my chest as his hand digs further into my abdomen.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming, but when he twists his hand that he has buried into me, I cannot stop myself from crying out.

"_Enough, __**enough!**_ _It was….__**Zeus**__ – Zeus's lightning bolt_!" Don't catch the lie, don't catch the lie, don't catch the lie.

He puts his free hand on my cheek, smiles. "I don't believe you. You see, Hades, I can tell when people lie. I am a perfect liar myself. So until you tell me the truth, I'm gonna rip out all your internal organs. Don't worry; you'll live. The Boss won't let me rip out your heart. But I can still take your…" Just as I feel him start to reach for something, a masked god walks up to him, whispers in his ear.

His smile fades, turning into a vicious frown. "You mean to tell me you saw one of them and didn't bother to catch it? Are you fucking _morons_?"

"The animal was too fast."

"Bullshit."

"We have to find it – Our Lady will-"

Amon rolls his eyes. "No shit we have to find it. She'll have our fucking heads if we don't." He looks back up at me, smiling as he pulls his hand from my body, covered in golden ichor. He rubs my blood on his face, and then on mine.

He kisses me, then. It is hard and forceful, and my entire body is shaking in agony and sweat. "Sorry to leave so soon," he says, patting my cheek. His eyes flick behind me and he does a motion with his clean hand.

"Cut him loose," he says, and I feel the cuffs around my wrist disappear as I fall to the ground.

My injuries begin to immediately heal, but I feel weak and drained. I try to summon some semblance of power, but pain racks through my body and my eyes begin to roll back as the world spins around me. My blood is rushing in my ears, and I retch onto the floor, over and over again.

The other gods around me laugh, and I hear Amon's chilling titter as he leaves with them. "See you soon, Hades," he says, and his footsteps are the last thing I hear before the pain takes over my body and I roll onto my back, mercifully losing consciousness once more.

CORA

Nobody can find Hank's car.

_Nobody_ can find my son.

Viola Guerrero is _dead_.

The cops left the house about an hour ago, saying that they were doing everything they could. They didn't talk about Viola's dad, Cesar. They didn't talk about it, but I could see it in their eyes – they blamed Jim. They blamed him because Cesar blamed him. But then I think, how could they blame him? She threw herself off of a building – how is it my son's fault?

A small, paranoid part of me wonders about how she could have possibly snuck out of her house and manage to throw herself off of a building in the middle of downtown. I'm…almost convinced that someone… pushed her. When I turn on the news, the story is on, and they show … a _crater_ where her body was. Then they show Maya and Cesar crying, and I can't watch it anymore. I hear Rachel rummaging through the kitchen, looking for things to cook with because it's almost 4:00 and I haven't eaten since yesterday. She's the only one here with me now, because Bobby had to go to work. Rachel might lose her job at the Trident for staying with me today.

I already know that the boss won't want me back there. That job is gone.

"Hey babe?" she calls from the kitchen.

"Yeah Rachel?"

"What's this weird cake-stuff you guys got in here?"

"It's…Hank's," I say, and my eyes start to water.

"And this stuff in the bottles? Almost looks like whiskey?"

"Also Hank's."

"Can we use the –"

"No," I say, almost immediately. I don't know why, but I feel like Rachel shouldn't eat any of that stuff. And me…well, I don't think I should eat it either. I don't _want_ to.

"…Kay, babe. I'll see what other stuff there is."

Then the doorbell rings, and I jump up out of the couch. "I got it," I say, friggin' _running_ to the door. I open it, and there's a ton of people there to greet me. An old man is smiling down at me, and there is guy beside him that is gigantic, with almost blood-red hair. I spot Hank's nephew, and he cheerily waves at me; and then a woman steps in front of all of them, getting right into my line of vision. She has red hair too, but lighter than the guy to my right. It's almost a strawberry blonde.

Almost.

She has green eyes, too, and there's something about her that's really, really familiar, and my head starts to hurt. She smiles at me, and my head throbs.

"Hello," I say, and I'm pretty sure I sound stunned because I have no idea what the hell is going on. Hank's nephew – Adrian, is what I think the kid's name is – pushes past her.

"Hello, Cora," he says. "We're going to need to come in."

"Uh…"

Adrian grabs my shoulders, gently pushing me to the side and they all walk in. The old man and guy with red hair sit on the couch, and Adrian and the woman stand by the stereo.

This is not fucking happening.

Rachel comes in, and yells, "What the hell is going on here?!"

The old man does something with his hand, says, "Calm down, miss. Everything is fine. Why don't you go and buy us all some food from that store down the road?"

And the weirdest thing happens. She nods.

She _listens._ "Okay," she says, like it's not a big deal at all. Like she's in a trance.

"Rachel, what the _fuck_?"

"I'll be back soon, Cora," she says, hugging me. "I'm going to buy food." And then she walks out the door, taking her purse and leaving me alone with these strangers. I have my cellphone in my pocket. I'll call the police.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the old man says, winking at me. He… has a glass eye.

I stick my chin out. "Get out, then."

Adrian walks up to me, touches my shoulder. "Cora, please. This is important."

"_Important_?! My son is God knows where, and your uncle is _missing_ – tell me, what in the _fucking hell_ could be more important than _that_?!"

"She won't believe if we tell her now," says the old man, peering at me, and the big guy with red hair grunts.

"If I had trained the boy, none of this would've happened."

The woman nods. "I agree."

"We've been over this before. You lost the duel," Adrian says, rolling his eyes. I feel like I'm missing some really important things here.

"What the hell are you guys _talking_ about?" Then they all turn to look at me, like they just now remembered that I am in the room.

"She is _quite_ beautiful," the big guy says, and the woman crosses her arms.

"She is. Don't get any ideas."

The woman looks at me, and I see myself in her. It's not like I've only seen her before…it's almost like…no-

It can't be.

"…_Mom_?"

She nods, and then my ears start to ring, and my vision tunnels, and I hear the old man say, "She's going to drop. Get her, Thor." And that's it – I'm passed out, feeling like I'm being thrown down a twisting wormhole of sights and colors and sounds, and thousands and thousands of memories pass through me.

A black chariot, rising up from a gaping hole in the earth. A man in black armor. A palace, a throne. A mother's smile – my mother?

A lover's touch…_my_ lover?

….Who _am_ I?

* * *

A/N: Next chapter will be more Jim-centric. I'll try to get it out before I leave to D.C. next week, because I won't have access to a computer again. As always, leave me your thoughts, and once again, a bi thank you to all that do. :)


	32. Turncoat

Chapter 32: Turncoat

JIM

"Keep up, Little Slugger."

After all the running, my feet hurt. I can't stop thinking about my mom. I can't stop thinking about Viola. Or my dad…or…

No, don't go there, Wells. _Don't_ fucking go there.

"Where are we going, Alex?"

He doesn't answer me, and we keep running and running, and when he finally stops, I almost fucking run into his back. "We're here," he says, and he pushes aside grimy doors. This ain't our warehouse. This is someplace else, and there's cold air that rushes past my cheeks. I fuckin' shiver.

But Alex smiles at me, and I feel like no matter what, I got a friend here. "Go in, Little Slugger."

So I do, and the lights turn on, and all the guys are around me. Lucas, hell – even Tugg – (how'd he get out of jail?) And Brain and Carlos…and the Boss. I've never seen the guy before, but he's here. But it's weird, coz he's not acting like, I dunno, how he should. Like he ain't the head guy.

"She's coming, Jim," Alex says from behind me. "Get on your knees."

"Wha-" And Alex puts his hand on my shoulder, pushing me down so hard and fast that I almost feel like I break my fucking legs. When was he that fucking _strong_?

And then all the guys around me get on their knees, too, and Alex shifts from standing behind me to kneeling beside me. And then I hear it – a voice, female and beautiful and fucking terrible at the same time. And then I _see_ her, walking in from the dark hallway leading into the room. She's absolutely fucking beautiful. I ain't ever seen such a perfect-looking woman before, except for…

No, don't you fucking **_go_** there.

And the closer she gets, the more I can see her features. She's smiling down at me.

She stops walking when she's about five feet in front of me, and her sparkling pink dress is hugging her hips and damn I'm startin' to get really sweaty. "Hello, little Aether," she says, looking down at me, and I can't keep from staring at her lips. And my mind races with images of Viola, of her kissing me…and woah, things I _know_ we **_never_** did. Who the hell _is_ this chick? She smells like Vy – lavender – hell…she's even startin' to _look_ like Vy…

"Viola?" I choke out, because, fuck, my throat has never been so fucking constricted in my damn life.

She frowns, and damn, she still looks beautiful. "No, my little hero. I am Venus." Something in my mind registers the name…I think I know it…but I can't fucking remember.

"Venus?"

She smiles, and I feel really fucking light-headed. "Do you know who you are, little hero?"

I nod, and I must look stupid. "I'm Jim Wells."

She laughs, and she sounds so much like Viola I don't know how I don't end up fucking crying right there. "Yes you are, little hero. But you're also much more. You are the key to winning the war. Why do you think-" she puts her hand on my cheek, and I know my face is fucking red and flushed, "Hades wanted to train you?"

"So I could protect myself," I say, but even saying it, I know it sounds weak.

She leans down, whispers in my ear, "Is that what he _told_ you?" and I can hear myself gulp.

"Yes ma'am," I say, and she laughs. The rest of the guys around us don't, though. Like they're scared of her.

"Polite and handsome little hero, aren't you?"

"I try," I say, and she frowns.

"We got you just in time, it seems. You're starting to sound like him." Like who?

….Hades?

Then she smiles again, and my mind almost goes blank. She keeps patting my cheek, and I can't think straight. "My little hero, you are instrumental in this war. You know of it – between the old gods and the new. I can see the recognition in your green eyes. They're your mother's eyes. She and I used to be quite good friends…before _he_ took her. Did he ever tell you that story?"

I stutter. "He –"

"At any rate, he _didn't_ tell you the truth. He didn't tell you about how he ripped her from her own home, and still kicking and screaming; didn't tell you how he took her on the stone-cold floor of his bedchambers, did he? Or how he tricked her into staying with him, because he knew she could never love him?" But I've seen how he _looks_ at her…how _she_ fucking looks at _him_. That shit can't be true…can it?

"But he-he…he _loves_ her – he waited _4,000 years_ for her-" She's running her hands through my hair, almost massaging my scalp, and I feel completely fucking relaxed with her.

"My sweet, naïve little hero – what you've see in his eyes, is lust. There is no "love" there. I am the Goddess of Love, I know this. He never loved her; he took her for her _body_."

"But-"

Her hand is on my cheek again, and she's looking right into my eyes, and all I can see is Viola. "Do not dispute with me, child. He is a **_cold_** god – there is a_ reason_ why your culture always portrays him as a villain in your stories. He never knew love; could never know love, especially one as beautiful and pure as yours and –"

"Viola's," I finish for her.

Her dark brown eyes are so sweet and kind, and in my mind's eye, I can see Viola falling to her death, and oh God _why_. Why **_her_**? She didn't do anything **_wrong_**!

Venus rubs a tear from my eye with her thumb. I guess I'm finally crying. "I can feel your pain, my little hero. Rest assured, Hades will pay."

"Hades?"

She kisses my forehead. "My little hero, it's time you learned of the right side of this war." She looks behind me, says, "Show him, Alex."

And then, there's a touch to the back of my neck, and time is reversed; except Alex is standing right there with me. "Watch, Little Slugger." And I do; and I can see…Hades…orchestrating my dad's death. He…he _made_ my dad leave my mom. And then I see the two of them, standing in a large field of grain, and Hades just _disintegrates_ him. Smiling, cackling, cruel and cold, he looks right at me, and I feel fucking _sick_; seeing my dad's guts just …**_everywhere_**. The world swirls around me, and I see flashes of other things, too; but everything's moving so fast I can only catch glimpses of things here and there. Him kidnapping my mom…her sounds as he…_rapes_ her. And then I see him talking to his god-buddies, and Zeus and Folkvarthr…and I see them talking about _me_. And then they mention Viola, and one even suggests that they should _kill_ her.

And Hades –

He fucking _agrees_.

And Folkvarthr tells them where she _lives_. And – and – this can't fucking be real. How **_can_** any of this be fucking real?! But Alex is here with me, and I've known him longer than I've known Hades. He's been a brother to me, through thick and thin, and…Hades _never_ did tell me the truth about anything, did he? He always kept things from me.

He…_lied_ to me. And I just saw him do all these things, and it all felt so**_ real_**… I feel Alex's hand let go of the back of my neck, and then I'm back in the room where I was before; back in the present, more pissed off then I've ever been in my entire fucking life.

Venus looks at me, pats my cheek. "So now, my dear little hero – who do you fight for?"

"You," I say, without hesitation. The images I saw; the sounds I heard, the smells I experienced – it couldn't have been faked. It just couldn't have.

There's **_no_** way. "I fight for you." There _is_ a reason Hades is always a villain in movies – because he **_is_** a villain. He…_killed_ my dad. He had **_Viola_** killed. Everything's been a set-up. The fight I saw when I was running from him…it was all set up. It had to be. Alex wouldn't lie to me, not like this. Never, ever. And Hades had so much motivation, too; he made my dad leave so he could have my mom. **_Killed_** him, so he could have her. Trained me to earn _my_ trust. Shoot, he probably sent Raj and Carl after me to trick me about the new gods. They had gold eyes _just like_ Zeus. Everything's connected. Everything's connected, and I was too much of a dumbass to see it then, but I see it now.

He did **_everything_**.

_Hades_.

**_I am going to kill you_**.

She smiles again, has me stand. "Welcome to the right side, little hero."

This is the right side.

It has to be –

It just _has_ to be.

I fight for my mom, I fight for my dad, I fight for _Viola_.

I fight for the _new _gods.

HADES

"Master Plouton, wake up. I haven't much time." There is something wet…and scratchy at my face. "Wake _up_."

My eyes crack open, and above me, the gray, intelligent eyes of a feline stare down. "Fol …Folkvarthr?" My throat is sore, and I can barely form a word. There is a metallic taste in my mouth, but it is not blood. These new gods have given me…something.

He picks up something to the side of me with his mouth. It is an old water skin. "Drink. You will need strength."

I drink so fast, expecting ambrosia, but finding only water. Despite that, I choke from drinking it all in a few gulps. "I apologize for not bringing ambrosia. They can smell it."

"It's fine," I say, and my throat still feels raw. "How did you find me?"

Folkvarthr shakes his head. "I do not have time to explain things right now, Master Plouton. I came here to inform you that Cora is safe…"

"…And the boy?" I ask, groaning as my head begins to throb.

"Captured," Folkvarthr says, heading into the shadows. No, no – not Jim. _No_. "But he is safe as well." He is captured…he is _far_ from being safe. But he is **_alive_**.

"Folkvarthr, answer me truthfully-"

"As always, Hades."

I stare up at the ceiling and the bright, fluorescent light makes the throbbing of my head even worse. "Is anyone coming to… rescue me?"

"…No."

"…._No_?"

Folkvarthr sighs, saying, "Zeus and the other leaders of the pantheons deemed it too much of a risk. But Demeter and Thor have been stationed to protect Cora, along with Odin and Apollo. Hel is…looking for you. She will not find you. I could barely sense you myself."

I've known this truth, and yet I say it aloud, "I am going to die here." I suppose it is for confirmation.

"…Yes."

I clench my jaw.

"Master Plouton, you know the way out of this. And if you ever wish to see Cora again, you _will_ have to do it."

Could he mean…? No, no – I will not. I shake my head. "It's too much of a risk. My father will-"

Folkvarthr comes to my side again. "Master Plouton, the only one coming to rescue you is yourself. You know what you must do." He picks up the water skin, once again heading back into the shadows. "I came here to tell you to…endure, Master Plouton," he says, and then he is gone.

Endure. I clench my fists.

I will endure.

I take out the small bag of sand in my back pocket. I am surprised they have not taken it. I pour some into my shaking hand, and toss it up in the air; inhaling its scent and allowing it to rain over me. In the land of dreams, I see Morpheus sitting in his shifting, constantly changing throne.

"What is your request?" he asks, flapping his black wings.

"Tartarus."

He nods. "Do what you must, but be careful, my friend."

Before I can say goodbye, I am pulled down, through dark and flaming caverns, till I reach the bottom of the pit. My father is there, waiting for me. He looks well. Has he…gained strength?

He smiles down at me, and there is no love there. "You have come here of your own free will, boy. Why?"

With each step I take towards him, I feel ill. "I have a proposition, Father."

He crosses his arms. "I'm listening."

CORA

My wolf is drowning. No, my dark king is drowning. No…they are_ both _downing. They are one in the same, drowning in a pool of memories. This hasn't happened before – it's something that _will_ happen. And another king, much older, struggles to pull down the younger. He wants to get out. I hold my hand out, and the one who grabs it is the one who survives. Covered in the dark water of the memories, I can't tell who it is.

I pray that it's _my_ king.

"Cora," I hear someone whisper. "Cora." I wake up, and Adrian is sitting over me. The old man is staring at me from the couch, and he pets a large bird on his shoulder.

"She knows," he says, nonchalantly.

Adrian turns to look at him. "How do you know?" he asks.

And then the old man winks at me, scratching underneath the chin of his bird. "Trust me."

And then I see the red-haired woman walk into the room and I sit up, disregarding any sort of dizziness I feel; and before I even really know I'm saying it, the word comes out: "Demeter." And Adrian turns to look at me again, and from the ancient places in my mind, I recognize him. "_Apollo_?"

_What in the world is going on? _

* * *

__A/N: This is more of a set-up of what's to come. Despite that, I hope ya'll liked it. Poor Jim is just so confused and hurt, and he's just making bad decisions left and right. :( As always, leave me your thoughts, mah peeps! :)


	33. Escape

A/N: No Jim in this chapter – it's mostly Cora and Hades. Next chapter will be more Cora and Jim-focused.

* * *

Chapter 33: Escape

CORA

My mind is racing, and I feel like I'm going to be sick all over again. As I look at Adrian – Apollo? – two images of him blur, and I feel like I'm going to throw up. And I guess…Apollo notices, because he rushes over to me, with a bucket ready – where the hell did he get that? –, and I dry-heave.

"What's wrong with her?" the red-haired woman – my _mother_ – asks.

And Apollo rolls his eyes. "Honestly, what do you _think_ is wrong with her, Demeter? She's in shock."

"Well then get her _out_ of shock."

"I'm _trying_." He touches my forehead, which I didn't realize was so sweaty until now, and he tries to give me a reassuring smile. "Now, Perseph – I mean, Cora – please relax for a moment. That's it, just like that. You need to be calm for this." I don't _feel_ more relaxed, but I guess that I am, because whatever he's doing is relieving my headache and nausea. But then he frowns. "What?" I ask. For some reason, my heart starts to beat really fast in my chest.

"What's wrong, Apollo?" my "mom" asks, smacking the back of his head; but he just shakes it, looking puzzled, and then I see the old man with one eye crack a grin.

"She's pregnant," the old man says, and I see the huge guy with red hair's eyes get wide, and he stares at me.

I think my mom makes something close to a pterodactyl screech, but I can't be sure because my ears are ringing.

"What?" How can _I_ be pregnant? _Hank is sterile! He told me he is sterile! We've used contraceptives even though he is sterile! How?_ **_HOW_**?!

"Impossible!" my mom yells. "That's impossible! _He_ can't sire children!" Then she glares at me, and before she can lay whatever verbal assault that is running through her mind on me, the old man with one eye says, "She hasn't been with anyone else." And then he winks at me again, and in my mind's eye, I can see old nooses hanging from trees.

My mom throws her hands up in the air, and from what I can tell, she starts to pace around the room in frustration. But I'm not really thinking about her right now – I'm thinking about Jim, and where he is, and where Hank is and oh God I'm pregnant and he's missing and Jim's missing and oh God –

I lay my head back against the pillow on the couch, and I clear my throat, shut my eyes. And then, very slowly, almost…robotically, I say, "Tell me what the hell is happening here. Now."

HADES

I wake to the sound of coughing, and my body is sore as I move to sit up. My shirt has been taken from me, leaving me cold and shivering and covered in grime. The fluorescent light above me has been turned off, and I have no idea what time it is. The coughing persists, and as I clear my raw throat to whisper the words, "Who is there?" through a crack in the wall, I taste the strange metallic flavor on the inside of my mouth again.

I look down at my abdomen, and though I cannot see anything in this darkness, I know I have healed. And yet, each time I breathe, my ribs ache and pinch; and as I rub my hand slowly down my stomach to see if scar tissue has developed there as well, the area is tender and I bite my lip to stifle a hiss. The coughing still persists, and I once again find myself asking, "Who is there?" as I lie back down on the cold, hard floor. Each time I move my leg, I feel close to losing consciousness again.

"On the other side of the wall – who is there?" The coughing stops. "Answer me…please."

I turn my head towards the crack in the wall, where I can feel a cold draft flowing out.

There is complete silence, and then, I hear it – a voice in this absolute darkness.

"…Ares…that's what my… father called me… I think," he says in a low, raspy whisper. "What the people called me…" He coughs again, wheezing and grunting. He sounds like a frail human, and…so do I. "…Are you… my… father?" he asks.

"No-"

"…They'll break you, Father. Only the cats know the way out. Only those… beasts. We can't get out, can't get out, no, no – can't get out now or ever…" He starts to sing, loudly; through spasming coughs and retches.

He sounds completely insane. "Ares–"

"Can't get out, no, no, no – no we can't. First they break you then they flay you, and your day starts again and again and again. Can't get out, no, no, no – no we can't –" I hear footsteps and kicking when someone enters his room, and Ares' unearthly screams start to rattle through the crack in the wall.

The torturer's words come muffled past the walls, but I can make out what he says. _"You must be itchin' to get your fix in early today, huh, War? Why else would you be laughing for joy? You up for a full-body flay? The Lady really does admire your skin. I hear she had some really nice leather purses made from the last time we did one."_

Ares only laughs in response.

"There_ is_ a way out," I whisper, covering my ears with both hands as Ares' desperate cries of agony and mad bouts of laughter tear through my mind. "I will get us _both_ out."

A rush of fear passes through me as the large metal doors to my own cell begin to screech and haltingly open, and I shamefully wrap my arms more tightly around myself.

"Wakey, wakey, Richie Rich." Amon's voice slithers into my ears, despite myself, and I feel my heart begin to race.

_Stop your shaking and sniveling, Aidoneus. _My father's words ring in my mind, and I feel so sick in so many ways. When I feel Amon's cold hands touch my back, I cannot keep myself from flinching. I hear him chuckle, and he continues his ministrations; lightly touching his freezing fingertips in circles all over me. My shivering has gotten worse. "Y'know, they always told me that you were supposed to be the stoic one. That's what the Boss Lady would always say about you. Said it was unnerving. But look at you now –" I feel his heavy chest press into the side of my arm as he leans down towards my ear. "And I just barely started." I do my best to clench my jaw, shut my eyes; not shudder in fear, and when he snaps his fingers, the strange cuffs that held me yesterday appear on my wrists again, even more tightly than before. I feel his cold, alabaster hands reach underneath my arms as he hoists me up into a standing position. He snaps his fingers again and my arms fly up, as a chain begins to form around my cuffs and link to the ceiling. The fluorescent light above me has been turned on, and to my right I can see his glinting instruments.

He catches my eyes looking towards the tools and he looks back at me, smiling a crooked smirk, that, like everything else about him, is beautiful and terrible at the same time. He pats my cheek, and runs his fingers through my matted, dirty hair. "I know you're excited to play, but the Boss Lady wants to see you-"

"That's enough, my dragon. I am here." I recognize her voice immediately, and Amon smiles; turning and bowing to her after he pats my cheek one last time. "Leave us," she tells him, and he obeys; closing the large doors of my cell.

"Are you really so confident in yourself to not have someone guard you while here with me?" I ask, doing my best to sound threatening. I do not know if it works.

She laughs, so I suppose it doesn't, and her pink dress sparkles with each movement. "You are _such_ a charmer, Hades." She walks closer, and I begin to feel light-headed.

She puts her hands on my chest, and my sore stomach twitches in response. "No wonder you have throngs of women falling for you. Or is that your brothers?" Her hand trails down to my abdomen, and though her touch is light, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning in pain.

"What have you done with the boy?" I manage through gritted teeth.

"What boy?" she asks, kissing my chest and then the side of my neck. Her other free hand snakes down to my trousers, undoing my belt and pants. Then I feel her hand wrap around me, working me up and down, and I feel disgusted when a moan escapes my lips. My thoughts are slowly swimming in a haze of pain and delirious pleasure. _She is toying with you, Aidoneus._

My eyes roll back. _Aidoneus!_

"_E-nough!_" I growl, managing to kick her away from me with my good leg. She smirks, looking at me expectantly.

Breathlessly, I say, "What have you done with Jim?"

Her smirk grows wider. "My, my, my…that really _is_ interesting."

"_Answer the fucking question!_" I scream, and the cuffs around my wrist grow tighter. I can feel ichor starting to flow down my arms from the deep cuts they've made into my skin.

She laughs. Bitch. "Calm yourself, Hades. He is simply one of us now. Safe, secure – you needn't worry about _his_ life. Instead, you should worry about yours. He will be the one to kill you."

I laugh too, then – and I know it's just as deranged-sounding as Ares' laugh. "Why are you_ doing_ this?"

She comes close to me again; lifting my trousers and zipping them back up. And then, her face mere inches away from mine, she says, "The winners in these types of stories never reveal their motives to their captive enemies."

I chuckle. "Do you believe I will manage to escape, then?"

"No," she says, lightly cupping my cheek. "I think it's just bad form." And then she kisses me, and she tastes similar to Amon. My eyes shut for a moment, and when I open them, I see her.

Cora.

Persephone.

And I see me, _raping_ her. And _laughing_ while doing it. And I see her son, dead and lying in a pool of his own blood next to her.

She locks eyes with me, as the buildings around us begin to crumble, and she screams in fear. My feet drag as I try to run towards her, and when I finally get there; finally try to pull _myself_ off of her, the monster that is me wrestles us both down to the ground.

"You're a monster," he says, in a voice that is my own, and yet not my own at the same time.

"No - no I'm _not_!" I scream.

He smiles, and his teeth are razor-sharp. "Yes you are. You are me and I am you. I am the dark part of _your_ soul."

He is straddled on top of me, naked and sweating, and I can hear Cora's screams as I see all of the destruction going on in the background around us. The sky is black, and red lightning burns through it. "I am your_ lust_," he says, tugging on himself, and I have a sharp intake of breath, because I feel as though I have just done the same thing. "I am your rage!" he yells, clawing at my face, and even as I scratch at his face in defense, so mirroring my own, I feel like I have done more damage to myself. "I am _your_ insanity; not your _father's_, or your father's _father_," he screams, tearing his torso apart and pulling out his heart, which he holds, still beating, in his hand. I feel everything.

Then he crushes it in his hand, and for a moment, I feel as though I have died; that my consciousness has ended, because I only see white around me, and then the cosmos. But I have not died, because I now again see him still straddled on me, and with one final yell, feral and mad, he says, "I will _rape_ her and _you_ will **_enjoy_** it, because you are a **_monster_**." And I try to stop him, but I am too weak, and soon I hear her screams again, and I feel the sensations, and I want to die. Flay myself and be done with this disgusting perversion Aphrodite has put me through. I feel _everything,_ and he does _not stop_. I retch over and over again, at the sounds of his feral, beastly growls and her weeping; at the feeling of her clawing at his chest and back, trying determinedly, but feebly, to get him – _me_ – off of her.

"**_Father, please!_**" I yell, desperately. I cannot take this anymore. I tear at my grimy hair, and at my skin, and ichor coats my hands. "**_Father!_**" And then it happens – I plunge deeply into the levels of my own consciousness, and I am only semi-aware of what follows next. Bits and pieces of it flash before me, almost as if in a random dream sequence. We are partners, and yet we are not, my father and I. When he gains control of my body, a part of me feels all of my strength return tenfold, physically. And I catch certain words as they float past me in this world of deep consciousness. _"Cronus?!"_ Aphrodite's shriek reverberates through me. She…calls for guards, I think, once the cuffs are broken. Amon comes in, and a few others as well. "_You can't win_," Amon says, and I'm sure he smirks. "_Your body has already been poisoned._"… Poisoned?

Aphrodite's voice floats past me again, "_You're surrounded, old man. Tell us where your scythe is, and I will be merciful." _I feel my father smile at her words.

"_I was never one for mercy_," he says.

"_Then die!_" Amon screams.

And I do not know what my father does, but I can feel the earth shake and crack, and even as they throw blows against him…against _me_, but together, we are too strong. A part of me sees Amon and Aphrodite get crushed under walls, and my father manages to make my body walk without a limp. _Father…don't forget Ares_. I am not sure if he listens, because I drift in and out of control of my body. I do not know how far I've walked once I am outside, but I think quite a few people come up to me, asking if I'm alright. I don't know how I get past them, because after awhile the people stop trying to come to my aid. Perhaps my blank stare unsettles them – for I'm sure my face has a blank stare, as my father and I slip into and out of control of my body. I am not sure if it is early morning or dusk, but as I continue to walk, and sometimes limp, I begin to see more and more people around me when I gain control. I feel extremely weak, and even a bit hot. I know I am sweating profusely, and there comes a point when neither I nor my father are in control of my body. It is almost as if I am sleepwalking, barefoot through the early morning in the city, and then, through the levels and levels of my consciousness, I hear a familiar voice.

I _see_ her, too – though I do not truly "see" her. She has my cane in her hand. _How_ did she get it? And then, as if knowing I am about to collapse, her arms reach around me, and she manages to hail a cab. "_I knew I'd find you, Pluto._" You found me, Hel. She touches her hand to my forehead, and I …think…she whispers, "_Oh no! You have the fever_." She then tells the driver to hurry up to the address of my brownstone, and I can feel my body begin to overheat.

The poison has begun to do its work.

* * *

A/N: Whew, loaded chapter. I'm sorry it's so short. Like I said, more Cora and Jim next chapter. At least Hades will be in a safe place, for now. Physically. :P


	34. (Moral) Event Horizon

Chapter 34: (Moral) Event Horizon

JIM

"You still have that purple dragon, sailor?"

"'Course I do, Vy." It's a lie. The dragon burned in the fire. Maybe she notices, maybe she doesn't – I just know that her dark, beautiful hands are holding mine.

We're sitting on top of a building, with our feet dangling over the edge. She squeezes my hand.

"If I fall, will you catch me?"

I nod. Why would you ask that, girl? "'Course, Vy –"

And then she starts to fucking fall, right from the edge of the building. I keep my hand on hers though, keep my grip as tight as I can. Please, Vy.

Please.

Don't go.

And then I see him –

_Hades_.

Dressed in armor and cloaked in black clouds, pulling her down, and he's…_smiling_ at me. Viola's got tears in her eyes, and I just keep telling her that it's gonna be okay – that everything will be alright and I'll save her. She_ trusts_ me – I can't fucking fail her, like I've failed everybody else. But Hades just keeps grinnin' and he pulls her down, hard and fast.

I lose my grip, and she falls, falls, falls – down, down, down, until I can't see her anymore, and I can only hear the sound of the collision as her body hits the ground below. I didn't just let Viola Guerrero die.

I killed her.

"**_Viola!_**"

I wake up screaming, and with my heart fucking pounding. I'm covered in sweat. Just as I start to relax, there's a knock on my door that makes me jump, and before I even have time to answer, Alex rushes in.

"Jim!" he yells, rushing over to me. "Get up – something happened!"

I rub my eyes, because everything seems really blurry. "What? What time is it?"

"7:00," he says, grabbing my arm. "C'mon, we gotta go-"

"A.M. or P.M.?"

He rolls his eyes. "Goddammit Little Slugger – does it matter? Lady Venus was attacked –" Holy shit.

He doesn't have to pull me through the door, because I'm stepping right into pace with him. "By who?" I ask as we're running through the winding corridors of the building. The warehouse exterior is just an illusion.

He looks back at me. "You know who."

That makes my blood boil, and I clench my fists. "I though you said you guys _had _him."

"We did." Are you fucking _kidding_ me?! You guys told me to wait, and I waited, and now he's _gone_?!

We walk into the underground passageway, which needs like five levels or special clearance to get through and eventually, after a few minutes through tunnel after tunnel, we make it to the Main Compound. This is my first time here.

I hear voices as we get closer to the main entrance. Voices carry pretty well in these caverns.

Then I hear Venus. "Eros," she says, "please stop your fussing. I'm quite alright."

Alex and I turn the corner, and I spot the Boss with her, and some other guy with a ripped-up suit, dusting off his pants. "Moth-"

"Eros, please attend to your other duties."

"As you wish…_Venus_." The Boss leaves, and Venus stands up, fixing her dress. It ain't ripped at all. She smiles at me. "Ah, my young, brave hero. Come to rescue me?" I feel my cheeks get really hot, and I blush.

Shut up.

"Yes ma'am," is all I manage to say.

Her smile gets bigger, so I guess what I said isn't _that_ stupid. Maybe.

She comes up to me, puts her hand on my cheek. "Unfortunately, I don't have your prize for you-" I clench my fists.

"-But, I _do_ have _something_. Come, young Aether." She moves her hand from my cheek down to my hand, and her skin is soft.

Just like Viola's.

She has the guy with the ripped-up suit open the big, metal, doors of the entrance, and leads me through to where a guy is hanging from the ceiling by his wrists.

He has bronze-colored hair, and it's matted and dirty, along with a long beard which looks like it hasn't been shaved in months. He smells _really_ fucking bad, too.

"Who…_is _this?" I ask, and I look at his bare chest, dirty just like the rest of him. It makes me feel sick to look at him.

She smiles, almost dreamily. "Ares, God of War. I had been wanting to keep him as a hostage, but I think…_other_ matters need attending to." She flicks her free wrist, and a black dagger appears in her hand. She gives it to me. "It's time you've known what it is like to kill."

My stomach feels like it's dropped through the floor and into the lowest, freezing circle of Dante's hell. "…Kill? _Him_?" I look over at Ares, who's broken and beaten, and…how can this be _right_?

She nods. "Ares _revels_ in war and suffering. He loves it – and nearly _every_ war that has ever occurred on this planet was a direct result of his machinations."

I swallow the big rock that's formed in my throat. Damn, I need water. "But-"

She steps in front of me, touches my cheek, and when I look into her eyes, all I can see is Viola. "Listen to me, Jim – all the strife you see in the world around you, all the _death_," she points back to Ares, whose breathing has gotten a lot wheezier since she started talking, "was caused, at least in part, by this god here. End him, and you will end pain for many, many innocent people. It is just, is it not, little hero?"

"I don't-" I don't know. Is it just to execute a guy, who's been beaten, and tortured, before he even has a chance to make his case?

Then, Ares' voice comes out, raw and labored, with his chin resting against his chest. "End it, boy. _End it, end it, end it._ I've raped and I've pillaged, and sacked cities all across the world. **_End it!_**" Everything he says is a desperate plea – even his admittance of his own atrocities. "**_END IT!_**" I close my hand around the blade.

_You're no killer, boy. __**Shut the fuck up**_, Hades. You **_never _**knew me, or what I was capable of. What I _am_ capable of.

I walk close to Ares, and there's relief in those gold eyes of his. I glare at him, putting the dagger up to his face. "Do you know where Hades sends murderers when they die?" he asks.

I narrow my brows. "This isn't murder. This is justice."

He throws his head back, laughs, then he spits on my face; and then he looks at Venus. She smiles at him. "Rot, _whore_," is all he says to her, and then he glares back at me. "Get on with it already, then, "hero." Plunge the blade in nice and deep." Fine, I will, jackass. With all my force and strength, I stab the black blade through his flesh and bones, and he groans. And I dunno – I just _snap_ –

I stab him again and again, and gold and…_red_ blood covers my hand and the front of my shirt and even my face. And before long, his body starts to shake and convulse, and he's foaming at the mouth. "That's enough, my hero." I feel a touch on my shoulder, and I drop the blade. I've just killed someone. Oh my God. Before I know it, I'm on my hands and knees, shaking and puking right below Ares' dead, dangling feet. The whole time, Venus is rubbing my back. "There, there. I'm right here, my little hero."

I just killed a man – a _god_.

But not the one I wanted to.

The one I _want_ to.

"I know where he is," I say between coughing up and crying. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. She keeps rubbing my back. "Do tell, little hero. Do tell."

CORA

"…So you're telling me…I'm a _goddess_." My head is really starting to hurt now, with …Apollo's image blurring and crossing between old, ancient memories and new ones. I shut my eyes, because if I don't I think I'll pass out again.

He touches my shoulder. "Don't you remember…Persephone?"

That name sends a whole new jolt of flashing images through my mind, and even though I have my eyes closed, I feel like the world is spinning around me. "…Only bits and pieces…oh God, I think I'm gonna be sick." Sure enough, he has the bucket ready.

"When will she stop doing that?" my mother – _Demeter _– asks. I feel one of her hands running through my hair, and I flinch away from it.

Apollo huffs. "Why don't you try-" Before he can finish what he's going to say, there's a loud knock at the door, and the old man…I can't believe I'm going to say this…_Odin_ jumps up from his space on the couch, and runs over to the door.

"Hel's found him," he says as he opens it. My heart skips a beat. Found who?

…Jim?

…._Hank_?

The only thing I see as the body is carried in is black, matted hair and oh God it's _Hank_.

"Hades," I hear my mother breathe, half sounding relived and the other half sounding disgusted. _Hank_.

Oh **_God_**.

As Odin carries him in, I feel a huge rock form in my throat and my tears start to swell. God, he looks _terrible_; paler than he's _ever_ been, covered in shining sweat and dirt and black bruises on the side of his ribs. His head is dangling back, and his entire body is limp, like he's…dead.

No.

Please, God, **_no_**.

"Told you I'd find Pluto. May we play chess now, All-Father?"

Odin smiles. "You did well, Hel. We will play chess later." Odin motions his head towards Thor for him to move, and sets Hank down on the couch.

I try to stand up, but Demeter's strong hand on my shoulder holds me down. "Not yet, child." I don't know where _you've_ been for the past 32 years, Mom, but I'm definitely _not_ a child anymore.

I brush her hand off – I'm sure that's a slight she won't forget soon – and as I move to stand up, I hear him groan a name. _My_ name. Persephone.

And for a brief, brief moment, I remember holding him, with his head on my lap; cradling him as he was…_dying_. I never get to a standing position, because the force of the memory knocks me off of my feet. The only thing that keeps me from face-planting is Apollo, who gently lowers me to the ground. But Apollo doesn't stop me from going to Hank. And hell, I must be _crawling_ to him at this point. I don't care.

Kneeling, I look down on his face; scarred and imperfect, and covered in bruises too; and I look down at his chest and abdomen, and there's a huge, gnarled line that stretches up from the side of his belly button. His breathing is shallow, and his eyelids are fluttering with his eyes rolled back. God, he's sweating and shivering. I touch his forehead, and his skin burns like fire.

Behind me, the gods are talking. He's _dying_. "Someone do something," I say, too low for them to hear because I'm choking back tears. "Dammit, " I say, lots louder this time, "someone _do_ something!"

And then I hear a new voice – ready and wise, and I look up. It's Hades. The _cat_. Sitting on the top of the couch pillows. "You all need to leave," he says. So he can talk. I must seriously be going crazy.

"The animal is right," Odin says, and I almost pass out from fright when two birds swoop in from the open door and land on his shoulders. "They're coming."

"So soon?" Thor asks.

"Yup, yup, yup. Coming fast. Won't leave time for us to play chess. How sad." And then I see another cat jump up next to Hades the Cat, and I feel like my eyes almost pop out of my skull. "_Dewey_?!" He bows.

"This is Duma, my lady. He does not speak." Oh, okay, cat. Good to know. Then Hades the Cat clears his cat throat and says again, "Hurry. They are close."

"Where will we go?"

"To Vallhalla!" Thor yells.

"No!" Apollo says. "My uncle needs to be treated-"

"There are plenty of remedies in Valhalla," Odin says.

"There are friends at the hotel. Friends indeed. Friends who still won't play chess with me, though."

"Bast is in Olympus, along with Ganesh and Quetzacoatl discussing war plans-"

"Valhalla!"

The cats jump down from the top of the couch and onto the floor, with Dewey – sorry, _Duma_ – and Hades the Cat hissing at everyone. "Decide now or perish – they are almost upon us. Open the portal, Duma."

"Choose, Persephone," Odin says. Hank needs help. Hades…needs help. He won't get it from Valhalla.

"Olympus," I say, and I hear my mother in disapproval.

"Very well," Hades the Cat says. "Olympus."

* * *

A/N: More Cora and Jim, and some Hades in the next chapter. Should be loads longer than this one, but all the same, I hoped you enjoyed it.


	35. Loss of Innocence

A/N: I'd like to thank you all for taking the time to review. :3 And Kata Chthonia, though I have not read "Hunter of the Dead and the Kiss of Persephone", I will definitely be looking for it now. Thank you for the recommendation. :) Also, I'd like to clear something up. I know I'm not very good at answering direct questions when you guys ask me in comments, (mostly because I only recently learned that you can do that) but a guest reviewer asked me whether or not "Amon" is gay. I am going to right out say it that he is **_not_** gay; nor is he straight or bisexual. He is simply a sadist – and in this sense, he is aroused sexually not by a particular gender, but by making people suffer. Again, I would like to reiterate – Amon is not gay, or straight, or bisexual. He is a sadist, and much of his character has been based on Ramsay Bolton from G.R.R.M.'s _A Song of Ice and Fire_ series. Amon also isn't his real name, but if anyone has seen _Schindler's List_, you'll see the connection. I hope that clears things up.

* * *

Chapter 35: Loss of Innocence

HADES

Warm sand is underneath my feet. It is running through my fingertips; thousands of individual grains falling and joining the rest, with a green forest at my back and brown desert stretching before me. Endless numbers of stars on a black sky look down on me. A thunderstorm is far off in the distance, bringing with it rain and thunder and lightning.

Where am I?

Sand pours through my fingers.

"Aidoneus."

My father sits across from me. I do not look up. "Yes?"

"You are dying."

Warm, soft sand. How nice it would be to just lie down... "I know." Soft arms wrap around my neck, and kisses trail down my jaw. I sigh.

"She isn't real, Aidoneus." As he says the words, I feel her disappear.

I lean back, watching the thunderstorm off in the distance grow closer, mile by mile. I peer at my father; black haired and bearded, with a strong jaw and furrowed brows. We are almost spitting images of each other.

"When the storm hits," he says, "you will need to fight yourself, and you will need to win. To fail will mean your death."

I run my fingers through the sand, breathing in deeply. He is beginning to fade. "What is happening to you?"

He smiles at me, and though it is not kind, it is not entirely malicious, either. "You are not cursed by me, and Tartarus is pulling me back."

He picks up a pile of sand, lets it pour down from his semi-closed fist. "…You helped me…even though you knew it would be of no benefit to you. Why?"

He looks up, and though I have lived for thousands of years, he has lived for aeons. For the first time, I can see the age on his face. "Because you are my son."

"That hasn't stopped you before-" Thunder rumbles in the distance.

"Aidoneus," he says, cutting me off. His hands are fading. "I am old, and I am very proud and revengeful in my age. I know…have done you many offences-"

I crawl over to him and slam him to the ground with my hands around his throat. "What, are you now _apologizing_? As if it will change **_anything_**!" My hands around his throat grow tighter, but he effortlessly manages to pull them off. He grabs my wrists with his fading hands, and I am held there. "_Listen!_ I haven't much time so you _must_ listen to me! I had been sick for many, many years, Aidoneus. **_Aeons_**. Decaying from the inside out, and filled with fear. My actions towards you and your brothers and sisters – I was _mad_, son. When your mother finally wanted children, I had already been long since gone –"

"**_The curse!_**" I scream down at him. "**_You cursed me to live in eternal agony, and now I can't even walk!_**"

His hands are gone now, and his arms are beginning to fade. I strike his face with a punch, but it doesn't seem to do anything to him. "Hades! Please…_listen_! The only way you will leave this place alive is in…conquering _yourself_. _Your_ fear…._your_…madness…._your_ rage."

My jaw is clenched. "How do you know this?"

"Because…I have done it," he says, fading completely. I am completely alone, and the storm is getting closer.

CORA

When we reach Olympus, I fall on my knees and try to throw up but nothing comes out. Oh God…we forgot about Rachel.

Odin helps me up. "Rachel," I say. God, I sound so weak. I'm**_ tired_** of being weak!

"Your friend is safe. They are not interested in her," he whispers into my ear. His hands are on my shoulder and waist. He smells like cigar smoke. _Dad…_

I look around, and I'm starting to see double-vision of everything. The days of old Olympus, and the days of new Olympus. Doric, marble-looking columns reaching up into clouds; fountains and music playing. Smells of meats and wines and cheeses and things I can't even describe, but make my mouth water. Laughter and dancing and the warm, comforting feeling of sunlight on your skin. But these are…_memories_, because Olympus now is somber. Lifeless, almost. This isn't the place for that, and it doesn't seem natural. As we are rushed forward by the cats towards the huge palace ahead of us, I see nymphs and minor gods whispering and pointing at us.

"It's _him_," they say. "The Unseen One." The cats hiss at them, and would-be voyeurs shrink back into their dark corners. The stars are shining above us, but it feels like they're wasting their time. Who pays attention to the stars in times like these?

The palace doors are open when we get there, and we run in. Down the long stretch of hallway, there are two white, marble thrones. And I guess it's Zeus and Hera who sit there. How is any of this happening? How is any of this _real_? There's a ton of gods here, actually; all dressed in suits and dresses. When I look at most of them, my vision doubles, and they look like they're wearing chitons and robes. A few of them I guess I don't "recognize", because when I look at them I don't get a migraine. I spot one with orange-red curls rush over to us. God, it's _Poseidon._

"_What's happened?!_" he asks, looking at Hank –_Hades_ – at his brother, desperate and scared. We've stopped about halfway, and I watch Zeus stand up.

Poseidon looks back at Zeus, and I start to hear the loud roaring of the ocean in my ears. "What have you _done_, brother?"

Zeus narrows his eyes. "What was necessary to keep us safe. Apollo, you know what to do."

Apollo nods, running left into a corridor while carrying Hank. _Hades…_

"Calm down," Odin whispers into my ear. "You will see him soon."

I feel the girl named Hel touch my shoulder. "Pluto is in good hands. He will play chess with us later, don't worry." I know my mother is looking at me, but I can't look back at her. I don't know if she's mad at me, or disgusted. Probably both.

I don't care.

Thor crosses his arms. "What's going on, then?" he asks.

Poseidon clenches his fists, glaring at Zeus. "You were just going to let him _die_," he says. "Let him be killed."

"_Be quiet!_" Zeus booms, causing the room to shake. The gods shrink away from him, all except for Hera. I guess she's used to this sort of thing. "We are at _war_, Poseidon! I cannot risk so many lives just for one-"

"He is our _brother_!" Poseidon yells.

"And Ares is my _son, _who has been taken from me!" Zeus snaps back. The whole room has gotten really, really quiet; and the only things that I hear are the sounds of the squalling ocean, and thunder lowly rumbling in my ears. Then another voice turns up – one I don't recognize; a woman's voice, light and soothing. She walks out from the parted crowd in-between Zeus and Poseidon. She is graceful and lean, and her face reminds me of a feline's – angular, powerful and wise.

"We are here to discuss war plans," she says, controlled and measured. "Not to get into another war."

Zeus sits back down, heaving a heavy exhalation. "You're right, Bast."

Poseidon growls, turning. "We're all damned if we follow a coward," he whispers under his breath. Then he looks at me. "Be strong for him," he says. And he walks out of the palace, his shoes clicking all the way.

There's gasps all around us, and I look up. There are two…men, I think, floating high up in the air. What. The. Hell.

"The angels are here," Odin says. Angels. So there's gods, talking cats and angels. I've lost my mind.

"Raguel, Dumah," Zeus says. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"We are here to simply observe, Zeus. Please, carry on with your business." Oh God, one of them just talked. And he's smiling down at me. "We will only observe."

As I keep looking up at him, the world around me turns black and the last thing I remember are Odin's hands keeping me from falling and the angel's softly spoken words swimming through my mind: _we will only observe_.

JIM

I'm allowed to go to her funeral. I wear Hades' stupid Yankees cap to stay invisible, because the cops are looking for me. And of course, it's raining. The cold droplets on my cheek remind me that this is really happening. She really is _dead_.

Viola's family is Catholic, and I hear the priest say the final words over her grave: "We therefore commit Viola's body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life."

She's gone. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

And Hades is _still_ alive.

And he's taken my mom.

My fists clench really tight. I hate him; I **_hate_** him so fucking much. I **_trusted_** him – he made me feel like I was his –

**_No_**.

He needs to **_die_**.

I need to **_kill_** him.

Viola's parents are the last people to leave. Her dad is holding her mom, and her baby sister isn't there with them. They probably hired a babysitter. Viola's dad says something in Spanish, but I don't understand most of it. Still, the words sound really pretty. He sings, slowly and painfully:

"Yo creo que a todos los… hombres  
les debe pasar lo mismo que cuando  
van a ser padres quisieran tener un niño...

Luego les nace una niña  
sufren una desepcion y despues la quieren tanto  
que hasta cambian de opinion...

Es mi niña…bonita  
con tu carita…de rosas  
es mi niña bonita  
cada día más…preciosa  
es mi niña bonita  
hecha de nardo y clavel  
es mi niña... bonita  
es mi niña bonita  
cuanto la lleguo a querer…."

And he starts crying, and his wife does too, and they stay there like that for almost an hour; just crying and crying as the rain pours on them, until they both decide that they've had enough pain for one day. I walk over to her grave, and make purple and white roses grow by her gravestone. "I'm sorry, Vy," I choke out. "I'm _so_ sorry." I drop my old copy of _The Call of the Wild _and _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea _into her grave. "I love you, Vy. Always will." The grave-diggers come, and one of them looks really confusedly at the flowers.

"I swear," one of the guys says, shoveling the dirt back into the grave, "I feel like I'm gonna run into some sort of Hamlet wannabe doing that Yorick line."

"Just shut up and do your job, Steve. It's raining and I'm fucking freezing."

I walk away before those two idiots piss me off more and I end up killing the both of them.

When I get back to Compound One, I don't even bother talking to Alex. Hell, I don't even bother to go to the kitchen and eat, because I know Lucas and Tugg will be there. Instead, I go to my room, and I cry, because I'm weak. I've failed everyone I love.

Dad.

Viola.

_Mom_.

Because even though I told them where to find Hades, they were too fucking late getting there. He took my mom, and now she's gone. When there's a knock at the door, I wipe my face and clear my throat.

"Who is it?" I ask, doing my best not to sound like I've been wailing like a little bitch for the past 15 minutes.

"Venus," the voice behind the door says. My heart starts to beat fast. I get up and nervously walk over to my door.

"Yes ma'am?" I say, opening it.

"May I come in, James?"

"Uh." I look back into my room. At least it's clean. "Sure."

She's wearing a different dress today. It's blue and simple. I really like it.

She sits down at my desk, and I sit at the edge of my bed. "How are you feeling?" she asks me. Terrible. Angry. Lost.

Alone.

"Fine," I say, rubbing my eyes. She smiles lightly at me. "Are you sure?"

I nod. "Yes ma'am," I say, but I almost choke because she really looks a lot like Viola right now.

"You don't need to lie to me, James," she says, standing up. Then she unzips her dress, and it falls to the floor. Holy shit. She's naked. In front of _me_. I'm pretty sure my mouth is hanging open. "I came here to comfort you." Oh my God she's so beautiful and she looks just like Viola and she smells just like Viola and she's naked and standing in front of me and my pants have never felt tighter. I cover my crotch area, because it's fucking embarrassing.

"Don't hide, little hero," she coos, lifting my chin up with her fingertips. Oh God, she smells _exactly _like Viola.

"Everything hurts," I say, getting past the huge lump in my throat. She touches my cheek, wiping a tear that's managed to well up. "I know, my little hero. Let me comfort you." And then, she kisses me, and scoots me back on the bed. In a few minutes, my clothes are gone, and I just let her take me. I try to lose myself; try to forget for a while my mistakes and the people I've let down. And when she's done, leaving me panting and spent, everything_ still_ hurts…but it hurts a little less.

When I wake up in the morning, she's not there, but her smell – _Viola's_ _smell_ – is, and I breathe in the scent of the sheets.

God, I am so fucking _lost_.

How did I lose my way so fast?

CORA

When I wake up, my mother is there, dressed in what I can only describe as scrubs. She's holding my hand, smiling softly down at me. "Hello, daughter." And I don't know why, but those words really upset me when she says them.

"Don't call me that."

She looks like I've just slapped her on the face. It's less than she deserves. "Why? You are my daughter. No longer my Kore, but you _are_ my daughter. And I am your mother."

I rip my hand from hers. "You ignored me for 32 years! You broke my dad's heart. How can you even _dare_ to call yourself that?"

She stands up, throwing her hands in the air. I can barely see her in this low light, but I can tell that she's angry.

"Safe from what? From _who_?" I sneer.

She crosses her arms and walks away from my bed. "You_ know_ who."

I cross my arms too. "You watched my dad die, stayed completely out of my life, just so Hank-"

"You know his name, girl." Yeah, but…it still weirds me out to say it.

"Just so that _Hades_ wouldn't find me. Well, look at how _great_ that worked out. But I'm sure it was worth it; letting your daughter fend for herself after her father and grandmother died. Good on you, Mom."

She snarls at me, turning around. "Do you even _remember_ what he did to you? **_He killed you!_**" I may not remember much, but I know that's_ not_ true.

I shake my head. "Why do you hate him so much?" God, I'm cold. I pull the sheets up to cover my shoulders.

"What kind of question is _that_?! He stole you away from me!"

I shake my head again. "No, it's more than that. I remember…you…never liked him. Why? He's… your brother." That means we're related, and I feel kind of queasy knowing that. I push that thought to the back of my mind.

She sighs and sits in one of the large plush chairs in corner of the room, facing the window that opens to the night sky. "I hate him because he reminds me of our father."

"Cronus." My spine shivers when I say the name.

"Yes," she says, closing her eyes. "My first memory is my father's angry face, and then being swallowed by him. And when I grew older in the pit of his stomach, and I saw Hades' face and voice grow to resemble his, I hated him. He was…so cold and unfeeling." I remember when Jim and I rented _Hercules_ and put it on, and how much Hank laughed during that movie, especially when Cartoon Hades would show up. How he and Jim would joke around; how he would hold me after a long day of work, just letting me know that he was there. And when I reach back, I remember how much he cared… about his kingdom. That he was a good king. No, he wasn't – _isn't_– unfeeling.

"He isn't cold," I say. She ignores me, keeps on going, "When he went to war with Zeus over that _human_ girl, I knew on that very day that I hated him, and his **_soulless_**, cold, blue eyes. And then when I saw you two kissing on that day of the solstice so long ago, I knew he _wanted_ you; wanted to rip you from the world of light and take you to become his morose queen. And he did, and you **_died_**." She looks at me, and her mouth is in a thin line. "That is why I _hate_ him. I was in so much pain, child; I missed you so dearly, and for so long, and when I saw your father, handsome and proud – and buying flowers for _his_ own mother, I knew I could no longer wait to bring you back into my life. I couldn't stay with you because I knew Hades' spies were everywhere, searching for you. To stay with you would have been giving you away. He had become a complete recluse since the winter solstice of 1919. Everyone thought he had given up, but I knew better. So I stayed away from you, hoping that your father would provide a happy life for you, and I would watch from afar. Hades would never find you, and I would get to watch you grow up again. That's how I justified it then. I am only sorry that it didn't work. Now he has impregnated you with his foul seed, and there is nothing I can do. The child will be born, and he will have progeny. From you. You already have one bastard. It is disgusting, daughter – "

"Shut up," I say, and I think I see her jaw drop in shock. "For the love of God, just _shut up_. Don't you ever call my son a bastard – _ever_, do you understand me?" God Jim, please be safe. Please. I don't know what I'd do if something were to happen-

No, don't think like that, Cora.

I put my hands on my face and breathe out, trying to calm myself down. "I want to see him," I say, standing up.

"Go," she says. "After all, who am I to stop you? I only gave birth to you. Twice."

Yeesh, this woman can lay on a guilt-trip. I shake my head, starting to walk out, but then I realize –

"I don't know the way."

A small, condescending smile appears on her lips. "Follow me."

HADES

I sit on the sand, watching the storm as it gets closer. I can see funnel clouds reaching down and spiraling in-between lightning strikes and thunder rumbles. A voice behind me brings me out of my reverie, and I jump up onto my feet, despite my protesting leg.

It is Amon.

_No_.

**_NO_**.

"Look around you, Hades. You've been deserted, everyone has left you. You know it's always been that way." He opens his palm, and sand pours down. "You're alone."

"You're just an illusion," I whisper. "A dream."

He smiles, and his violet eyes have never looked more sinister. "Sometimes dreams become reality. Like when you dreamed of being tortured, and then I tortured you in reality. Nice times."

He steps closer, dusting off his hand on his pants. "You're afraid and alone. And you will die here–"

I get down on my knees, put my hands to my ears. "Shut up–"

"Because you are a weak–"

"Shut up!"

"Sniveling, pathetic god."

"_Shut up_! _Shut up, shut up,_ **_shut up_**!"

"You better not give up, Hades." I look to my left, and I feel relief fill my chest. "_Jim!_" I get up on my feet to walk over to him, but with each step I take, he gets further and further away from me.

"Don't you fucking **_dare_** give up," he says. I reach my hand out, and I suddenly feel very thirsty and hot. I fall onto my hands and knees, and I feel a hand grab the back of my head and push me down into the sand. "_Jim_," I choke out.

I feel Amon's cold fingers on my neck, and I shiver. "I am your fear; I am your pain. I am the chain around your_ neck_ as you **_scream._** You are worthless. Your own _family_ left you to me; to **_die_** at my hands. You will not survive this. You are **_weak_**."

"Don't you fucking give up Hades. She needs you. _I_…need you. We both do."

I reach my hand out. "_Jim, help me_…"

"Don't give up," he says, fading from my vision.

"You're not strong enough to survive this," Amon whispers into my ear. "You never were." My body feels hot, and I cannot breathe.

I need help. "_Somebody help me!_" I scream into the sand, and Amon continues to whisper into my ear. "You will die here," he says. "You were meant to die here."

CORA

"Get out of my way, Apollo."

"You don't want to see him like this."

"You don't know what I want. Now, step aside."

"Very well," he sighs. He has sweat on his brow, and his eyes look tired. He must be completely exhausted. "Come."

I walk with him into the makeshift infirmary that used to be one of the grand dining halls of the palace. There are a few other gods here; some I don't recognize. And then I remember – they haven't told me anything about the war. But then I spot him, twisting and turning on a litter, and I figure those questions can wait for the moment. Right now, I need to be here for Hank.

_Hades..._

I look down at him, and it seems like he's been given a bath. Other than that, though, he still looks terrible; pale and shivering, with dark bruises on his face and sides. He has IVs connected to water and other bags of liquid, and there's a heart monitor beating regularly at his right. Apollo has placed ice on his sides, and when I touch his forehead, he's clammy and hot. Honestly, besides the fact that I'm in fricking Olympus, I feel like I'm in an actual hospital.

I think he says something, but I'm not sure. I feel Apollo come to stand beside me. "I'm doing all I can. The ambrosia seems to have calmed down his fever, but it's going to be a rough night."

"Everyone else here – do they have the same thing? Were they poisoned?"

Apollo nods. "To varying degrees, yes. He was lucky enough not to be given that much, but…"

I clench my jaw, and suck in a quick breath. "But?"

"I'm going to be as delicate as I can-"

I shake my head, looking down at him, and his shallow breathing. "Just tell me, Apollo."

"Very well, my lady…He's comatose. I don't know why; none of the other gods who have been poisoned have gone into comas."

Somebody whispers into Apollo's ear, and he nods. "My lady, I have another patient I need to attend to. Stay, if you wish. Talk to him; he may be able to hear you." And then he rushes off to some other god that needs his help.

I sit down next to Hank…next to _Hades_, and I move his hair from the front of his eyes. He makes a sound, and I take his hand in mine. "It's okay," I say, trying not to cry. "I'm here. I'm right here."

HADES

"You're not alone," a voice says, and I feel Amon's weight lift off of me.

"_Cora?_" _Persephone?_

I manage to stand up, and I turn to the sound of her voice; the feel of her gentle touch on my cheek, but where I look I find nothing. "I am here with you, Hades. You are strong enough to face your demons. I will be with you the whole way."

"I am afraid," I whisper.

The voice giggles, lightly and softly, and for the first time in days, I smile. "The only time you can be brave is when you are afraid," she says. Thunder rumbles around me, and I look up. The storm is upon me.

I am ready.

* * *

A/N: So guys I hoped you liked this longer chapter. :) I really appreciate all your reviews, and I thank you all for sticking through with this story. :) Cheers!


	36. Battle at the Center of the Mind

A/N: Blarrrg, sorry this took so long to get out. My life took an unexpected turn.

Chapter 36: Battle at the Center of the Mind

CORA

"It makes us mortal," a voice says from behind me. It's gruff and old…Odin's here.

"What does?" I ask, not bothering to turn around. I know it's him; can smell his smoky cigar scent right in back of me.

He sits beside me, smooth's out his pants, and his hands are big and paw-like. "The poison," he says. "Gods who once bled gold now bleed red. It's not really the poison that kills, but the injuries it allows to fester. And then we die, feverish and covered in sweat. Like mortals." I look down at Hank's abdomen; at the big, red, angry slice that runs from his belly button to the bottom of his sternum; at the black and yellow bruises on his ribs and face. It's something out of a horror movie. My grip around Hank's hand tightens a little bit, and I feel a little nauseous.

"Why are you here, Odin?"

"You right well brought me here, remember, my little bird? I'm staying to discuss war plans, since a majority of the pantheon leaders are here now. It's funny – we chose to meet at a hotel on neutral ground so no one pantheon would have too much power; but now it seems everyone is running to you Greeks – why are you looking at me like that? Have I upset you?"

Yes, you have, you old creep. Just then, Hank twists on the bed, making a pained groan and oh God could he be…waking up?

"No, girl," Odin says. "He's far, far away."

Please, no.

_No._

HADES

The winds of the storm are strong, and the black raindrops sting like ice. Lightning strikes and thunder surround me as I through black mud. The sea is no longer at my side, and the once-soft sand beneath my feet has turned into sludge. Still I keep walking, and though I am cold, the water covering my body is sweat, and not rain.

"A long walk, Hades – but what are you walking towards?" I feel Amon's sweet breath in my left ear, and then in my right. "Oblivion? You know you can't win, right?"

I keep walking, holding my arms to my chest to brace myself against the cold winds. "Ahhh, _I_ get it. _You_ don't know where _you're_ going. You're lost inside your own head. Poor, little lost king. Lost in so many ways. "

I clench my fists, and then another voice appears beside me and hot, searing hands touch my shoulder. "That's right, strike him. You're strong enough. Kill him."

Amon stands in front of me, smiling smugly as the rain beats down on both of us. "You really don't have any sort of control over yourself, do you? You like to pretend you're all high and mighty compared to your brothers, but in the end, you're just as wild and lustful as they are."

"No," I say, the wind of the storm whipping through my ears.

"Says the lost king. Weak and lost, and alone – "

I move to strike him, in an attempt to silence him, but my fist passes through his body, and he is still left there, smiling smugly. "I'm not the one you should be fighting," he says, and I feel another grip on my shoulder; this time tight and rough. "You ever hear of the story of the two wolves?" he asks. Two wolves? "Well, it looks like you fed the bad beast the most."

The black rain beats down on my shoulders, and lighting illuminates the clouds over me. "What do you mean?"

He smiles, nodding at me to look back, and when I do, I see myself; feral and full of rage. "He'll win," Amon says. "He already has." No.

Not this time.

I try to throw a punch, but my…Other Self ducks low, and returns with an uppercut, hitting me right underneath my chin and sending me flying back. I land with a splash in a large, muddy puddle, and the black water that rains down starts to burn as it lands on me. Amon is there, sitting on a large rock. Sitting and laughing at me. Before I can say anything, my Other Self grabs me by the throat and lifts me up into the air. He is stronger than me.

I am suffocating, and the rain burns my flesh as it falls down. As I look down into his eyes, I see nothing but darkness and hate, and his grip grows tighter. This is the end.

CORA

"What's going on?!" The heart monitor is going crazy and Hank's convulsing. _No, no, no, no_….

"Get her out of here!" Apollo says, and I feel Odin's arms start to pull me away.

"No!"

HADES

I feel myself slipping away, finally ending, and memories flash across my eyes. I remember finally seeing her face again for the first time in 4,000 years, and just as I am about to fade away forever, lighting strikes beside us, and I am let go; falling hard onto the ground.

Somehow, my strength is renewed, and I crawl forward through the mud towards my Other Self, and we begin to grapple. The burning rain seems to have no effect on him; in fact it seems to rejuvenate him. We fight and tear at each other, battling for dominance, and Amon watches; watches, as we are both swept away into the sea by a large wave, and even then, we still fight and tear at each other in tempest. The ocean's water burns like my curse, and his strength grows. He pulls me down into the ocean, with his arms wrapped tightly around my neck from behind.

CORA

I don't know how I manage to break Odin's grip, but I do, and I rush back towards Hank. He's stopped convulsing, but his heart is still beating like crazy, and before Odin or Apollo or someone else can pull me away, I finally say the words I'd been too afraid to say this past month. "I love you," I say. "Don't you _dare_ die on me. I love you." I'm being pulled back again, and I can do is thrash and wail. And then, the heart monitor stops beating, and the world crashes around me.

HADES

I have died once before. It is a strange thing, dying; where one may feel pain and suffering on the brink of death, _in_ death, one feels at peace. There is no pain, no suffering; only tranquility. Yet I know I am not dead yet; and I know my Other Self's arms are still wrapped tightly around me. But I feel strangely numb…and at peace. Then, in the darkness of this ocean, I see a light; so bright as to be blinding, and a strange voice calls out me. It is not Cora's voice, yet…in a way it _does_ sound like her.

"Reach out to the light," the voice says.

"Who are you?"

"You know who I am. Now reach out to the light. She is waiting for you."

And so I do, and I feel a warm, soft hand wrap around mine and my Other Self's embrace disappears as he sinks deeper down into the ocean's depths. As the hand pulls me, I begin to hear voices.

CORA

His heart is beating again. Oh my God, he's _alive_. And…and…are his eyes _opening_? They are! _He's waking up!_

"Hank!" I yell, and this time, Odin lets me go.

HADES

As I open my eyes, my vision swims, and my body and face feel very sore. I hear her voice, but as I try to turn my head, I fall back in dizziness. Then I see her, looking down at me with tears in her eyes. …Are those…for _me_? "Cora?" She smiles, touches my face.

"Yes," she says, slightly laughing. She kisses my forehead. "Welcome back." I see Odin and Apollo relief on both of their faces as they smile down at me as well, and I shut my eyes.

I am alive.


	37. Slaps

Chapter 37: Slaps

JIM

Things are getting crazy now. Teenagers are starting more fires, more and more kids are dying. Gods are fighting other gods in the streets, and the rest of the mundane people think it's earthquakes and thunder when the gods have a smackdown. None of them know what's really going on – that there's a war starting.

That the world is on the brink of complete fucking pandemonium.

Me, I don't really know what to believe or fight in anymore. Viola's dead. My dad is dead.

My mom is gone.

All I have left is…_him_.

And I swear, when we fight again, I will **_kill_** him. I can do it. I killed a man – a fucking god! I can do it, I can do it.

_You're no killer, boy._

I am now. I'm a killer now. A murderer. I can do it. I will do it.

I will kill Hades.

"Hey Little Slugger, think maybe you could stop carving You-Know-Who's name into the wood?" I look up, and there's Alex, with his shaved head and chipped front tooth, and his tattoo of some prayer written in Sanskrit on his neck. He's grinnin' down at me, and I wanna grin back, but I can't. Not anymore.

I cross out Hades' name on the table with a deep, jagged cut, using the sword he gave me. It's the sword I'll dip in poison and the sword I'll use to kill him.

"He's probably dead, y'know." He's not dead. I couldn't notice it before, but now I know – I can…feel if certain people are alive. And there was a brief fucking moment a few days ago, maybe– so, so fucking fast – that he did actually die, and I could_ feel_ it…and then he came back, and I could feel _that_ too.

"He's not dead," is all I say, and I get up, grab a red apple from the fruit basket on the steel counter, and head back to my room. The days are starting to run into each other, and I'm beginning to forget how long I've been here.

It's only been a few days, I tell myself.

Only a few days.

CORA

They made me leave after Hank woke up – Apollo told me he needed rest, that his body still needed to recover, and since then anyone who is not a patient has been kept out of that wing of the palace. I haven't seen him for days, and I've been kept out of the loop from the war council. No one's told me _anything_.

My own mother hasn't spoken to me, and so far the only good thing in this situation is that my headaches have stopped. But my memories have also stopped coming to me.

The worst part is that I don't know what the hell is going on, and most of the time all I can do is walk around the dead streets of the city, or in the empty corridors of the palace. All the gods are either sick in the hospital wing, or in the war room, and they haven't let me into either one.

"Please understand, Cora, that we're doing this for your own good."

That's what they all tell me. Apollo, Odin, Athena, Folkvarthr…all of them.

But I'm done with listening to them. I need to know what's going on. I need to know if my son is okay, and they have the answers.

So I've made the decision to go to the war room, because even if I can't see Hank, I can still learn about what's going on.

When I walk in, nobody turns around - there's a debate going on between two gods I don't recognize at all, and all of the attention in the room is set on them. I spot an empty seat near the back, and I go sit there quietly.

Zeus is sitting at the front with a bunch on other gods – leaders of their own pantheons. I guess the yelling gets to be too much for Zeus, because he stands up and booms, "**_Enough!_**" and then, a little quieter, he says, "Apollo, fetch my brother."

"But Father, he's-"

"_Now._"

So Apollo disappears for a few moments, and then reappears with _him_.

Hank.

_Hades_.

_Hades_, because he's dressed like Zeus and the rest of the Greeks. _Hades_, because he has a crown on his head, silver, harsh and menacing. _Hades_, because he doesn't have a cane anymore – he has a staff. And _Hades_, because when I look at him from my far corner of the room and I see his eyes, they look _cold_.

_He_ looks cold. And cruel.

And _angry_.

He bows his head a little, says, "You summoned me, _brother_." Wow, that tone. Zeus seems to notice too, because his eye twitches and he does not look happy.

"Indeed I did."

The rest of the crowd is silent, and the tension in the air is thick. When Zeus speaks again, the only thing you can hear in the room is his voice. "They found my son today, Hades. Did you know that? Tied up, hanging off the ledge of a bridge in New York City. Ares. Dead." Zeus doesn't cry, but his voice wavers.

"I am sorry for your loss," is all Hades says, dry and emotionless, and what's… _happened_ to him?

Zeus laughs, sounding a little bit off his rocker, and a lightning bolt appears in hand with a crack of thunder. "It was your responsibility, Hades – yours, to train the boy. And now he's gone, and do you know what? He's the one who killed Ares." Train the boy?

…What boy?

"You can't possibly know that, Zeus-"

"Can't I? There was a video – Apollo, turn it on – there was a video strapped to his chest. Everyone, turn around; the screen is behind you."

Everyone turns around, and the screen turns on…and I can't believe what I'm seeing. I see Jim…with a black blade in his hand…and a man hanging by his wrists from the ceiling. And then… and then…Jim _stabs_ him. And stabs him and stabs him.

This can't be real.

**_No_**.

"You trained him, Hades; you lost him, and now my son is dead. And when the time comes, **_you_** will put an **_end_** to him. **_You_** **_will kill_** **_him_**, and this mess of a war will **_end_**. " …Trained him?

Lost him?

'**_Kill him?'_**

"**_NO!_**" someone screams.

It's me.

"…Cora?"

The whole crowd is looking at me now, and they seem blurry from the tears in my eyes. I see Hades in the far back, staring at me. Everyone is staring at me.

"Cora, wait!" That's Hank's voice.

I don't care. I'm out the door and heading back to my room before anyone has a chance to stop me. At least, that's what I think –

I almost end up walking straight into his chest when he appears in front of me in a cloud of black smoke. And wow – I never noticed how tall he was before, but now he's looming over me, and it's infuriating.

"Get out of my way, Hank."

"You know that's not my name."

You lied to me about…everything. You let my son get taken away from me. You reacted with cold indifference to your brother's pain.

I feel like I don't know you anymore.

Did I _ever_ know you?

And he just keeps staring at me, with his cold eyes and it almost looks like they're glowing in this low light of the corridor, and I can't stand it.

"Cora, let me explain – "

"Explain? Let you _explain_?" I think about Jim – about what he's done, and where he might be, and before I know what I'm doing, I slap Hades. "**_Fuck you and your explanations!_**" And I slap him _hard_, right across his bruised cheek, and then I try to slap him again, but he grabs my wrists – tightly too. He pushes me up against the wall, and I feel his warm breath on my face. His staff is left and forgotten on the floor.

"I've had my share of abuse for the week, and I'll _not_ have any more from _anyone_, least of all _you_," he says, and I struggle to get out of his grip. It's no use, though – his hands are like iron. He locks eyes with mine, and then he whispers very evenly, very quietly, "I know nothing makes any sense right now. That you are afraid." I feel my head nodding to what he is saying. "I know, and I am sorry for what you just saw, but right now, Cora, I need you to trust me. Do you trust me?"

I think about everything that's happened.

I…don't know.

"Yes," is what I say, and the world around me disappears in a cloud of smoke, and we reappear in my room. The only light we have is from the candles in the corners of the room. He lies back against one of the lush couches on the floor and breathes a heavy sigh. "I suppose it's best to start at the beginning."

So he does, telling me everything, and as he talks, my head starts to hurt, and I can see him and how he was before all this happened. Before the scar, before all of it…and he's aged a little. Not by much, but you can tell around the eyes, whenever he loses a little bit of control on his expressions. Time has done a lot to him.

"I didn't tell you who I was, because you wouldn't have believed me."

"But you told my son."

"No, no. I didn't. He…figured it out."

All this time, their training, everything – they were preparing for a war, and Jim was the key. _Is _the key.

And now he's gone. He's gone, and I don't know what to do.

Hades pats the place on the couch next to him. "Come here." And after everything, I listen, because that's the only thing I can do right now. I walk over to where he is on the couch, and lay my head down on his chest, and I just let it all out; all the pain of hearing about Viola's death, of seeing Hank – _Hades_ – bloodied and bruised and dying…of seeing my _son _kill a defenseless man brutally and mercilessly. And he just holds me there, lets me cry my eyes out until I can't cry anymore and my throat is sore. We just sit there, him holding me, and when he finally speaks again, his monotone is gone.

"I'll get him back," he says, kissing the top of my head. "I promise."

"I know you will." I hear his relaxed breathing and steady heartbeat, and I look up at him to see if his eyes are still cold.

They aren't, and that fills me with such relief and joy that I tell him –

"I'm pregnant." Then his expression changes from comforting and reassuring to confused and hurt in a millionth of a second. Right when he's about to push me away, my mouth finally catches up with my brain, and I say, "It's yours."

"…What?"

HADES

Cora? Pregnant?

…And the child is _mine_? How…how is this possible? I cannot have children. How?

"The baby is yours." I have my hands on her shoulders, ready to push her away. They were shaking in rage, now they shake in…a feeling I cannot describe.

"Say it again."

"The baby is yours."

Mine. The child is mine. There is a child – there, in her womb, starting to grow. And it is mine.

"…How?"

CORA

He looks so lost and confused, and it breaks my heart. "I don't know. But I am, and it's yours." I touch his face. The cheek where I slapped him. God, I feel awful. "I shouldn't have slapped you. I'm sorry." He laughs a little at that, and I do too, and it's like _finally_ – some levity.

He puts his forehead against mine. "I accept your apology."

"I love you," I tell him, and his grip on my shoulders tightens.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that." His hand moves to the side of my neck, and then to my cheek. His fingers are shaking as they trace the line of my jaw. "So many long years."

HADES

She runs her hands through my hair. "I'm here now." I shut my eyes while her hands run down my shoulders, unclasping all the pins she finds. The top of robes pool down at my waist, and then I feel her hands on my cheeks, holding me in place. "And I'm going to kiss you now."

CORA

His skin is burning hot to the touch. His jaw clenches, and his hands snake behind the back of my neck and our mouths press hotly together. He winds his fingers in my hair and tugs on it tight, making me open my mouth and shut my eyes. His stubble is rough now; not soft like it usually is. The smooth planes of his chest are against me, and I can feel the strong rolling of his shoulders and arms as he brings us closer. His breathing is coarse and loud now…or is that me? I can't tell where I am now. I feel like I'm melting into him; like I could be here for days and forget my own name, but it'd be alright because I'd be with him.

HADES

When the kiss breaks, she puts her hand on my chest and pushes me down. "Cora?"

She kisses me, softly. "Relax."

"What're you-"

She puts a finger to my lips. "Relax."

Then she runs her hands down my chest and abdomen, slowly and gently. Her hands stop at each bruise, at the large cut that is still healing that runs from my navel to my chest. Her fingers trace each one of spiraling tendrils of the scar left from my curse. Then she begins to kiss my neck, and then my chest, and when she softly kisses my bruises, one by one, I feel myself shudder.

CORA

I kiss each one of his injuries, running my hands over his hard muscles. Strong muscles, capable of leveling buildings and tearing people apart. Tired muscles, exhausted from all the fighting and struggling, and needing rest. I kiss right underneath his bellybutton, feeling the coarse, dark hair there brush against my lips. I can smell and taste him again. Smell his earthy, masculine scent with each bruise I caress; taste his skin and sweat with each one I kiss. His stomach quivers with each touch, and I kiss lower and lower. I start to remove the rest of his robes, but he stops me.

"Cora, you don't have to – I'm not, it's not…you're not, I-"

HADES

She looks up at me. "I want to." Before I can do anything else, she removes what's left of my robes. She keeps eye contact with me as she wets the palm of her hand with her tongue, and reaches for me.

CORA

When he throws his head back, I know I have him. I spot the scar on his thigh, gnarled and awful, and I kiss him there too. I can feel his pulse with each stroke on his soft skin, but I don't stop there. I cup him with my other hand, and when I look back up at him, he's staring at me with pure desire and disbelief.

HADES

I nearly come undone when she licks me. She flicks her tongue out, as if to taste me, and then I soon have to clench my hands into fists. All I can feel is her hands caressing me and touching me, and her warm, wet mouth on me. All I can see when I open and close my eyes is her looking back at me, with me in her hands and mouth.

"C-c-cora. _Gods,_ Cora."

A fire is building in my belly. This woman, whom I love. My fingers are tangled in her hair again. This woman, who carries my child. My breathing is loud and harsh. This woman, who kissed every bruise and scar.

"Let go."

This woman loves me.

I am gone.

* * *

A/N: Okay guys, you know the drill. I apologize! I do, I do. I had lots of graduations to go to these past few weeks; new life stages and all that. The good news is I'm back! :D


	38. Angel of Death

Chapter 38: Angel of Death

JIM

When I get to Section 3 of the Compound, I see Venus there. What bugs me is that I see Dagon there, too. I don't like the guy. His eyes are a deep purple, almost red, and he has thick, black hair and cheeks so sharp you could cut yourself with them. He's got dark circles under his eyes, and his lips are thin, and he's as pale as snow. Despite all that, there's something eerily beautiful about him. He looks like an elf from one of those fantasy movies like _Lord of the Rings_ or something. He hates Hades as much as I do, but he's always sneering at me, and I'm starting to think he hates me too.

Alex is there, but he doesn't smile at me. Good. I wouldn't smile back anyways. I see Lucas and Tugg, and a few other guys. Some girls, too; and some are new gods and some are demigods, and some are just kids who can see Truth. Venus says they're recruiting anyone mistreated by the old gods 'coz they have a will to fight. Sometimes, though, I don't know; I look at these people, and these kids, and they look so lost. None of them have gold eyes; that's a mark of Zeus, Venus tells me. So it was Zeus who had Raj and Carl set the fire back at my apartment; Hades was probably in on the whole thing, and it just pisses me off even more. I lived at his house for over a month; I ate his food, slept on his fucking couch. After training he'd tell me a story, maybe give me a pat on the shoulder. He had this earthy smell about him, and strong arms when I broke down and hugged him. I trusted him, I believed in him. I'll kill him.

Dagon sneers at me. "You think you're a hard man, boy?"

I narrow my eyes, don't reply. Dagon laughs. "Hades trained you well."

"My dragon, leave the boy alone." Venus touches his arm, and he turns his head, smiles at her. "As you wish, my lady." She calls him her dragon. I think he's her dog.

She smiles at me. "James, fancy a raid?" That peaks my interest, and I feel electricity starting to spark at the ends of my fingertips.

"Where will it be?"

Dagon answers me, and I see flames in his eyes. "Olympus."

CORA

I wake up without the feeling of his arms around me, and I start to panic, but then I see him, sitting on the ledge of the open window. The moonlight is hitting his pale chest, and he's looking outside, pensive. He looks smaller, more vulnerable somehow, and his chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm.

"Can't sleep?" I ask him, and he turns to look at me. He doesn't say anything, and that bothers me. I get up and walk over to him, touch his cheek. He's stiff and his jaw is clenched. This close, I can see that there are tears threatening to fall from his eyes. "What's wrong?" His brows furrow and he shuts his eyes.

"Go back to sleep," he says. "I shouldn't trouble you with these thoughts."

"Hades," I say, and the word is strange to say, yet comforting. "Tell me."

He looks up at me. "My lady, it's not something I wish you to hear."

"I've seen you suffer through your nightmares. I've seen you shaking and heard you crying out at night. All I've been able to do is hold you, hoping to calm you down, and I hardly ever can. You're stuck in your nightmares. I want to help you, but how can I if you don't tell me anything? Hades…"

But he shakes his head. "I'll not put you through that." His voice is stern, and his eyes even more.

I'm about to open my mouth, but there's a loud crash from outside. "What was that?" I feel my heart starting to pound. I look out the window, and there's a huge fire starting at the other side of the palace. Oh God, what's happening? I thought we were safe here!

"Cora," he says, and his voice is back to that chilling monotone. "Get dressed." Black tongues of flame dance over him, and he's back in his robes again. He's going to have to teach me that. I put on my stuff as fast as I can, and as soon as I'm dressed, I feel his hand in mine and we're out the door. He's got his staff in his other hand, though I'm not sure where it came from. He's not wearing his crown anymore.

The palace is shaking, and there are shouts and shrieks all around us. We're running, and it's weird because I've never seen him run before. I can tell from the look on his face that he's in great pain. He keeps his grip on my hand tight.

There's a screech to our left, and I see Apollo being held against the wall by three men, and when Apollo screams, "_Uncle_," one of the men turns around, and I feel my stomach drop. Even though we're at the other end of the hall, I recognize him. It's the creepy guy with the purple eyes. "_Uncle, Uncle, please! Help me_!"

"Ah, Hades," the guy says, and I feel him freeze next to me. "Looks like you're still alive. Give me a moment, would you?"

"_Uncle, help me_!" The guy takes a black dagger from his belt, and before I even have time to scream, he slices Apollo's chest open, breaks past his sternum, and rips his heart out. Apollo's golden eyes fade almost instantly, and he crumples to the floor, his blood leaving a golden-red trail on the wall. "Sorry, Apollo, your uncle is just too much of a coward," the guy turns to look back at us, and he is the most evil thing I have ever seen. "Aren't you, Hades?"

"Hades," I breathe, squeezing his hand. The guy with the purple eyes chuckles at us, Apollo's heart still in his hand. "Hades, please." I can feel his pulse beating wildly in his hand, and he's not moving.

"Looks like the lady want you to protect her like a good husband should." He eyes me like I'm his prey. Him and his goons take their time walking towards us. "It'll be fun making you watch what I do to her. Fucking her, making her moan my name as I rip her heart from her pretty chest. The whole time I'll just make you watch, Hades. The boy won't even recognize her when I'm done." He looks at me, right in the eyes. "What do you say, girl? You'd love taking my thick, long cock up your pretty, little cunt, wouldn't you?" He licks his lips, and I have _never_ been more scared in my entire life.

"_Hades_," I say one last time. I look up at him, and he blinks.

"Shit," he says, and he hits the ground with his staff, causing the hallway crack, and the guy with the purple eyes to stumble and fall. Before I can see anything else, we disappear in a cloud of darkness, and reappear in another part of the palace. Parts of the roof start to collapse, and the fire is starting to spread. My foot ends up catching on a fallen stone and my ankle twists and the yelp of pain that goes with it does not go unnoticed by Hades. I try to run, but I can't, and he swiftly picks me up by the waist and throws me over his shoulder, fireman-style. I hear his heavy breathing, and when we get to the war room that's when all hell breaks loose.

Gods are fighting, and there's a blow so vicious from up above me that I get blood sprayed on me thick and heavy. The smell of iron is choking me. Don't throw up, don't throw up, don't throw up.

In the midst of all the chaos, Folkvarthr finds us, leads us to a portal, spiraling and blue and cackling with electricity.

"Follow me," he says, jumping through to the other side. There's a blast of lightning and a crack of thunder. There's too many of them for Zeus to fight off by himself, just too many, and when Hades turns around to look and see, I can feel his hope leave him.

I can't see Zeus's face; can't see his heart when it's ripped from his chest. I can only feel Hades' body shake beneath me; can only hear his anguished cry.

"Close the portal," I hear Poseidon say, and I think he's pushing Hades and me forward. "Close the portal!" He screams it, but he sounds so weak. When the portal finally closes, all the suffering and fighting of Olympus closes in back of us.

We're in a forest, by a river. There are a few hundred of us, mostly Greek. I spot Odin and Thor and Hel, and a few other gods and goddesses from other pantheons. Everyone looks shaken. Hades walks on wobbly legs, and when he puts me down, it's with trembling fingers. Nobody even notices Poseidon until he collapses with a loud thud.

I see Hades spin around, and rushes over to Poseidon, falls to his knees beside him. God, Poseidon's torso is sliced open like the others. He's not healing like a god should. Everyone around is hushed and quiet.

"We…were…ambushed, brother," he says, gasping and choking on blood.

Hades grabs a hold of his hand. "We were."

"I'm…sorry…for…everything."

Hades laughs, but it's nervous and humorless and frightened. "Don't be silly. You've done nothing to me."

Now it's Poseidon's turn to laugh, but it's more of a wheeze. "Don't forget… to give me coins. Maybe… the afterlife for…gods…has a Charon…of its own."

"Poseidon," Hades says. "Brother, no. Poseidon. Please. " We all know, though. He's dead.

Hades puts his head on his brother's shoulder. "_No, no, no, no, no_…" he's saying, crying softly into his brother's shoulder. All the while, I can feel a presence above, and I know the angels are watching. Watching us die, and doing _nothing_. I don't think I've ever been more angry in my life, but I keep it in. I keep it in for Hades' sake, because now is not the time to pick a fight.

He stays like that for a long time, crying over his brother, and probably over his nephews, and the only one who dares to approach him is Odin. "It's time, lad," he says. "Burn 'im or bury 'im, but be done with it."

They build a pyre, and they cover Poseidon's eyes with two coins. No one mentions the fact that the other gods who were killed will have no coins in whatever sort of afterlife there is for gods. Hades lights the pyre with a flick of his wrist, and he suddenly seems very tired. His bruises are showing on his face, and his scar is thick and red and angry. I see my mother and my aunt Hestia crying. Hera is dead or captured, and Artemis is nowhere to be seen either. There are about 300 gods and goddesses here, and around 150 of those are Greeks and the rest are from the other pantheons. From what I can tell, they don't have many dead, and all their leaders survived. This was a direct attack on the Greeks, and it worked. Zeus is gone, Poseidon is gone, Apollo, possibly Hera and others. The 150 here are all that remain.

As the pyre burns, I watch his façade return; he's is cold now, cold and stern, because that's the only way he can deal with this. Anyway else and he just might break.

"The Greeks will need a new leader," Bast says, and she's quiet and kind, because what else can you be in a situation like this? Her implication isn't lost on anyone, though, and my mother even breathes a sigh of resignation. His expression doesn't change at all, and he just stares at the pyre, looking like he's trying to discern something from the flames.

"Hades," Hestia starts, touching his arm. "We need you."

He doesn't say anything, doesn't even nod. Instead, he turns around and heads deep into the forest. I don't see him again until evening the next day, walking in with a heavy limp towards the campfire. I don't know where we are, but there's snow in the peaks of the mountains surrounding us, and it gets chilly at night.

"I am not Zeus," he says. "I am not Poseidon."

"No, but you are our king nonetheless, Your Grace," says Athena. His expression doesn't change. On the fifth day, Hades, along with the other leaders of the pantheons decides that it's time to leave the forest, and the cats make a portal that takes us to a resort in Miami, and then we stay a few days there, and then to Vegas and Los Angeles, and we hop around until the gods pool their strength together, and make a stronghold out of a small resort town in Colorado. We get to stay here, at least for a while. My ankle is sprained, but it heals in time.

My belly is starting to show, a small bump, maybe looked at as a little weight gain, which it is in a way, I guess. I hardly ever see Hades, except when he comes to sleep. By then he's too exhausted to do anything else, and he's usually gone in the morning. They're preparing for an attack, I know.

There's one time I spot him, when he thinks no one is looking, and he's got his head in his hands, tears falling down from his face, looking like the entire world is set on his shoulders. I guess it is. For my part, I practice with my powers. Every single day, I try to get stronger, and by the fifth or sixth week, I feel pretty comfortable in defending myself. It all comes back, my strength and my memories from those old times, and all I need is a little practice to be at my fullest strength. Hestia helps me through it all; Mother just sits and watches, and I'm fine with that.

One night, one nippy cold night in December, he comes in before I'm asleep. He looks tired, like he always does these days, but there's something else in his eyes, too.

"Cora," he says. "Persephone."

His whole body is shaking with some sort of tension, but it's not fear or anger. He walks closer and closer to me, until he's right in front of me, and his kiss isn't sweet or gentle this time, but hard and rough as he pulls on my hair. I feel his hands wandering all over me, and he picks up my legs and we fall down into the bed a little too roughly. I can feel him through his pants against me, and hear his harsh breathing in my ear. He doesn't bother taking my clothes off by hand; one flick of a wrist and they're gone with a thought. His hands are completely frantic, not staying in one place for more than a few seconds as he kisses me. His hair and beard have grown longer. I'll ask him later if he'd like a haircut and a shave.

Pretty soon, his own clothes disappear too, in black flames, and when I take him in my hand to guide him into me, he tries and fails to bite back a hiss. He tries going slow at first, he really does, and I can feel the pressure in him. I trace my foot along the back of his calf, and that seems to be all it takes. With a grunt, he starts pounding into me like the world will end if he doesn't. Maybe it will. He hasn't forgotten about me, though, and I can feel his hand there, down at my core, playing me like a fiddle. I can feel that heat start to rise, low in my belly, and when he thrusts a little too hard, I clench around him, he gives me the most fantastic moans. The waves of pleasure mount and mount, and his breathing gets faster, his thrusts more and more erratic, and when I come it doesn't take him too long to follow after me in a roar of release.

He lays his head down in the crook of my neck, and I can feel his tears. I don't say anything, just run my hands over his back and through his hair, and he holds onto me. That night, when he can't sleep, he tells me why. He starts slow at first, but then his words start to tumble over and out of his mouth like water flowing from a broken dam. He talks about a man named Amon – the man with the purple eyes, and when he talks about him, his hands clench and his knuckles turn white, and I feel just as scared as him. He talks about Ares, and what he heard, and his guilt that tears away inside of him because he couldn't save him. He talks about his father, and his brothers, and everyone he couldn't save. He talks about Jim and me and the baby, and he is afraid. He doesn't want to lose us.

"I never wanted any of this," he says, staring at his hands. He turns to look at me. "All I ever wanted was to be with you again, to rule my kingdom, to have peace. I don't know what to do, Cora. What do I do?"

I move to stand between the v of his legs and touch his cheek, lift his head up. "You lead with a firm and just hand, as you've always done. You _lead_, Hades, and we will follow."

He leans his head into my hand, shuts his eyes. "I am afraid, my lady."

"That's a good thing."

His brows narrow, but he keeps his eyes shut. "How?"

"Because that's the only time when you can be brave."

He opens his eyes then, gives me this look of wonder. He rests his head against my belly. "I love you," he says, holding me close to him. I run my fingers through his black, loose curls of hair. "And I love you."

When we wake up, with my head on his chest, and his arms around me, it's Christmas morning.

* * *

A/N: Love you guys. 3 And to , yes, you may certainly translate the story. :)


	39. A Dragon, Captured and Tethered, Still B

A/N: Hades does a pretty…dark thing here, but you'll see why. But I warn you, it gets pretty graphic, so skip it if it's too much; the aftermath is important.

Chapter 39: A Dragon, Captured and Tethered, Still Breathes Fire

JIM

He got away again. And he took my mom with him. It doesn't matter. I'll get him.

I'll save you, Mom. Whatever it takes, I'll save you.

"…Dite, why are you doing this?"

"Now, now, Hera – you know I don't call myself that anymore. I know you're upset over Zeus and Ares. It really was a bad bit of business, all that. Ares was always so handsome and dashing; I'm quite sad that he's gone too. So, I'm telling you, as a fellow woman who is mourning; don't make this harder on yourself than it already is."

_Don't look at her,_ I tell myself. _Don't look at the woman with cuts on her face and dirt in her hair. She used to be beautiful; she isn't anymore. Don't look at her._

"I – I d-d-don't know wha-t-t you want, V-Venus." _Don't look at her cry. Don't pay attention to her. She's your enemy, sister to Him. She threw her baby off of a mountain. She's heartless and cold. Don't look at her. _

"What I want?" Venus takes Hera's jaw in between her thumb and forefinger. "I want to know where they went, Hera. Where has your _family_ gone?" She squeezes, and I see tears well up in Hera's eyes. _Don't watch her cry._ I look down at the floor. Hades is the one I want. I have to get my mom back. _Don't watch her cry. It'll break you, and you can't break, not now._

"I d-d-don't know," Hera screams. "Please, V-Venus, I don't know." Venus smiles that amazing smile of hers, pats Hera's cheek. "I believe you, Hera. Dagon?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"See to your spoil. I don't want her in my sight again. And if you can, find that cripple son of hers. We'll need him to make more swords. Our smith is dead."

"Yes, my lady."

He grabs her roughly by the arm, pulling her up and she's crying and crying and _please stop crying stop it stop it stop it!_

"Stop what, Jimmy?" My fists are shaking and Dagon is smiling that snake smug smile of his. Hera is looking up at me with those green-gold eyes of hers, and she somehow manages to break Dagon's grip to crawl over to me. "He fought for you," she says, and her voice is completely fucking hysterical. She's grabbed onto the front of my belt and she's clawing at my belly and I don't want to hurt her any more but she won't _get off_. "He fought for you, and you led them here and killed my son and my husband and my brother. You killed them, and he _fought_ for you!"

"Get away from me," I yell, pushing her off, and she falls back to the ground on her ass. Dagon lifts her up again and throws her, scratching and screaming, over his shoulder. "Don't get in the way next time, Jimmy," he says, shoving his shoulder against mine as he walks past with Hera in his arms. I know what he'll do to her, and I feel sick thinking about it. "Maybe I'll share the next one." _Don't look at her. _

I feel Venus' touch on my neck, and it calms me down. Dagon is awful, but he's necessary. We need him. She needs him.

I'll tolerate him.

"Don't trouble yourself with thoughts of their queen, my hero. Dagon will be no worse than Zeus." She's touching my shoulders and my back and my brain feels really foggy. "I have a special job for you, James." She kisses the back of my neck, and I feel her hands on my chest and belly. Everything feels foggy. Everything feels better.

"What do you need me to do?"

I can feel her lips smile against my throat. "Bring the humans into the conflict. Bring me their leaders." The whole time, I see Zeus' dead, gold eyes staring up at me. He was a handsome guy. Strong, proud. Dead. _Don't look at him either._ "I'll do whatever it takes."

I start with the President first, and the V.P., and while I'm over here, Dagon and his goons are in Europe, taking the British Prime Minister, and the Italian president and a few other heads of state. It's a slow process, because it has to be – because war would break out amongst the mundane folks if it were to go any faster. Venus doesn't want that – not yet. People are scared, that much is true. People don't know what's going on, and they fear. The Speaker of the House leads the U.S., and nobody knows what to do. They wonder if it's aliens – that's what the conspiracy theorists say. They wonder if it's terrorists, until leaders from war-torn countries in Africa and the Middle East start to get taken, and terrorist leaders too. There's no pattern; there's just time. And even if the mundys think they see a pattern; think they can try and predict who gets taken next, it doesn't matter because these are gods and you can't fight against them, you can only hide.

We never find Hephaestus, but it doesn't matter – his forge is ours.

The whole world seems gray now. I think that maybe there's something wrong with my eyes, but there isn't. The world has started to turn gray and brown and dead and scared, and I feel numb.

_Don't look at her. You'll break if you look at her, and you can't break, not now. _

And of course, the leaders have no idea what the fuck is going on. But Dagon keeps them drugged; keeps them pacified, and soon, they think they're just having a really weird dream. The time hasn't come yet for them to be useful. It will though, when the world is more gray. Winter stretches into summer, but the season is cold. Cold and gray, and Venus says it's the old gods. Maybe it is, or maybe the world is just finally dying.

All I know is that I can only see colors when I'm with her, and _that_ and _Him_, that's all I have left.

I feel numb, and all I want is to feel whole. I want to be _good_ again. I want to see my dad, feel like I did when he was there. I want to be good again.

_Don't even think about her. You couldn't save her. She was one of them. Don't think about her. _

The world is gray and my hands are soiled. I don't feel like Jim Wells anymore, I feel sick. I'm not good.

I'm a _killer_, of gods and men.

I want to be good again, but I can't. I think about my night in the hospital, and it feels so long ago, now – the dream with the hands and the pit, and sometimes when I walk the abandoned New York City streets I feel like I'm already there. I hate Hades even more for doing this to me.

I feel worse.

Soiled and destroyed.

Dead, gold eyes look up at me in my dreams, and blue eyes – blue eyes like winter ice – look down at me in pity and even… (_No, don't say it_), and I hate him I hate him I hate him –

I just want to be good and whole again. I just want my family. My dad and my mom. I'll get her back, not him, though; never him.

Dad is gone.

So is Viola.

When Venus holds me, I feel almost whole. But I'm not – never will be again. Something's lost, something important, and I can't get it back, not ever, ever. It's better to just be numb and let the world turn gray. Feel cold in the summer.

"Hey Jimbo," Alex says, nudging my shoulder. I don't remember punching him, or sitting on his chest, or grabbing his neck. But now he's looking up at me, scared. _Zeus. Hera. Don't think about them._

_ Ares._

_ Don't think about them. _

There's a voice that snarls, thick and sharp; blades on gravel. It sounds like _Him_. "Don't ever call me that again." I want to be good again.

Dagon laughs from behind us, and I want to kill him; want to take my soiled hands and wrap them around his fucking stupid throat and choke him till he's dead and gone. But instead I push myself off from Alex.

When Dagon leaves to the last leader, he's taken, captured, abducted. They'll torture him, maybe kill him. It's blood for blood; the price the dragon – _the dog_ – has to pay. He's served his purpose. It's almost time.

_Don't think about her. Dirty hair, scratches on the skin. She was beautiful, once. She's dead now._

I want to be good again.

HADES

"Hades, what are you doing?" She sounds sleepy, but faintly amused. It is a hard reaction to get from her now. I breathe in the scent of her auburn hair, so much like a warm summer. The summer we're in now is different; cold and unforgiving to men and gods alike. My hand at her waist travels down over her swollen belly. There's a foot, I can feel it, and the sensation is frightening and exciting all at once. "Touching you." The child – _my child_ – is due any day now. Any day.

There's a light laugh. "I can see that, but why?"

I kiss her smooth shoulder. "Because I am a dirty pig, why else?"

She grinds her behind against me, and there is an amused lilt in her voice when she says, "I can see that too." She does it again, and a low groan escapes me. She looks back at me and smiles. Caught again. I kiss her, running the fingers of my other hand through her hair.

A knock at the door, and she turns from me, lying back on her side. "Come in," I call. She is covered underneath the thick blanket. The summer is cold.

Athena steps in. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but…we've captured one of them. The one with the purple eyes." I hear myself swallow.

"He is… here?"

Athena bows her head. "Yes, Your Grace." I feel Persephone tense next to me, and I kiss her shoulder again. "Give me a moment, Athena. I'll be with you shortly."

"Of course, Your Grace." She steps out, closing the door behind her.

Immediately, Persephone says, "I want to go."

"No, absolutely not." My tone is final, but she is stubborn, and I love her for it.

"I'll go whether you take me or not, Hades. I'd rather be at your side, though, giving you strength. He's hurt my son – this is my right as much as it is yours." A pause, and I feel her hand move down to where mine rests on her belly, intertwining her fingers with mine. "I am your wife, and your queen, and this is your child." She brings my hand up with hers, kisses it. "We face him, together."

I sigh. "Together."

* * *

He smiles up at me when we reach his cell, smug and cunning, and no injury on his perfect, delicate face. She stands behind me, with Demeter and Odin at her right and left. His hands and feet are bound; changed together with the powers of different gods. They should've gagged his mouth.

He looks behind me, spots her. "Well, looks like you are a man after all. I'll tell you, Hades, I had my doubts when I crushed your groin all those months ago. But, maybe you've been cuckholded." He waggles his eyebrows. "Wouldn't be the first time, right?"

He isn't hanging from the wall, isn't changed from the ceiling. He is on the floor, and the floor is tile, but clean. He hasn't been hurt, only captured.

Well, he hasn't been hurt until _now_.

I punch him square on the nose, and my fist is heavy and fast; I can hear the bones in his face crack; feel them crunch underneath his skin. He won't heal, not right now; Odin made sure of that. The gallows-god knows his charms, and the cats of Bast had their ways of finding out secrets when the new gods had slipped once or twice. That was all it took.

His blood drips down his mouth from his nose, black and red and oozing. He smiles at me, his face broken and destroyed, and says, "Felt good, didn't it? Do it again."

My jaw clenches and my teeth grind. I flex and close my fist and I hear my name. "Hades," she says. I turn and I can see her breath; I've made the room freezing cold.

"Leave," I tell her, but she shakes her head. We were supposed to face him together, but I want her - _need_ her to leave, now. "Demeter, Odin, take her. I do not wish to cause her stress." What is unsaid is that she cannot see this; she cannot see _me_ do what I am about to do.

And Demeter hates me, but she understands, because for all Persephone has remembered, this is not something she ever knew. I can be cruel. I _am_ cruel, to my enemies, and this is war; blood for blood. Feral vengeance. "Hades, _please_, don't do this. He wins if you do this. He's clouding your sight, can't you see?"

She is in pain, and I am causing it. I narrow my eyes at her, shake my head. "Take her," I tell Demeter and Odin, and they nod. They know; they've seen. Perhaps she does know as well, because she looks scared, not for herself, but for _me_.

Wrath and fury are not foreign to me. This is a fact they cannot ignore, and a piece of myself that I do not need Persephone to see, especially now, even if she does know this in her heart. In a flash, they are gone from behind me, and all that remains is him, me, this room -

And Thor, who guards with Hel, right on the outside. His grin is broken and ugly and now almost toothless. "You bastards figured out what kills us." Not a question, a statement – direct, knowing, fact.

I roll my shoulders, feel my strength; strength that I've regained and strength that I've amassed. The strength of my brothers, flowing hot and wild in my veins, leaving me hungry for blood.

But I will not kill this man.

Not yet.

"Still trying to be stoic huh, Hades? You and I both know the truth, though. And your lady wife too. She knows how your mind replays what I did to you every night; what your father did to you; how you hold onto every little piece that's brought you pain – how it's engrained on you. It's even in your _smell_; your _taste_, your _blood_. You're soiled and dirty, and you know what?"

I give him nothing. I know what he is going to say.

"You're just like me. You may pretend that you're not, but you are. I could see it in your pretty eyes back then, and I can see it in them now. You're cruel; you're _bloodthirsty_. And that boy Jim may not be your son by blood, but you left your mark on him – he's fucked up just like _you_ now."

Give him nothing. One foot in front of the other, lean down, grab his jaw, lift his head up. None of what I am about to do is necessary; Odin knows their plans, even if I do not, and for now, that is enough. "Ahh, there's the glare – there's the anger. The cruelty. So, what're you gonna do, Hades? Burn me? Cut me? Something - "

His words stop short with his screams, and his eyes screw shut. I lightly slap his cheek, and his eyes fly open once again. "Stay awake now, Amon, you can do it." My voice is oddly distant. My hands do not seem like my own, but the anger is there; the rage, sick and threatening and all-consuming. The jaw… the jaw is an easy thing to break, and I'm wrenching it; pulling down from his skull, slowly, slowly, slowly. I like the look in his eyes; I like the fear and terror there; I like how he shuts them, tears threatening to spill. There is no honor in what I am doing; there is never honor in vengeance. The skin on his face splits, and I take my time, enjoying how he squirms and pants. _Mercy_, I think I hear him say. _Please, mercy_. But that is an illusion, because he does not beg for mercy; never mercy. He came here expecting this. Something warm splatters my face, and I know it is his blood; can see the black and red all over my hands as I pry his jaw back further, further, further. Skin tears and the bone cracks and the deed is done. He opens his eyes, and I see hatred there, and it is hatred I return in kind. "When I leave, you will heal, and you will be fed only when I deem it necessary." He tries to laugh, but it is miserable. He has never been in a situation like this, hopeless and afraid. He has much to learn. I look down at his ruined mess of a jaw, his broken nose. We are nothing alike. We are not. He is smiling at me with his eyes, and my leg suddenly feels like it's being torn from my body. I pull on his tongue, hanging useless from his mouth. "And, make no mistake, Amon; if you ever say _anything_ about Persephone or the boy again," I say, tugging on the wet muscle and leaning in to whisper in his ear. "I'll cut your cock off with a dinner knife and force it down your throat."

I stand to my full height, slowly, shaken, and when I leave the room in a cloud of black flames and smoke, I can still see his purple eyes staring back at me. I appear in the washroom and I brace myself against the sink counter because I can barely stand. I look at my reflection in the mirror, scarred and feral and covered in black and red blood, and then I look at my hands. I feel sick. My leg hurts.

My hands start to tremble, and my breathing is ragged, and the rage that I let consume me, give me strength, is making me nauseous. My reflection -

A monster, something to fear, covered in blood and smelling like corruption.

_You won't win, _it says to me.

I cover my ears. "Shut up!" My leg hurts. _You don't even know where you're going – a lost and confused little king._ "_Shut up!_" I can't think straight, and the world is spinning and it needs to stop it needs to stop the voices in my head need. To. _Stop_. I turn on the faucet, streaking red blood everywhere. Everything is white –when did this room become so white? – and I'm dirtying it. I rub the water on my skin, on my face, but the blood won't come off.

I'm stained.

_You fed the bad beast, and now it's finally coming to eat you. _

"Shut up." It's a whimper now, not a command. Shameful. My leg _hurts_. I wish it would stop hurting. I wish the blood would come off. _Please come off_. It's burning now; everything is so hot, and I can see my reflection everywhere; scarred and bloodied and feral and naked and why is it so _hot_? I scratch at my skin – _why won't the blood come off_ _?_– and I feel so ill. Ill, mad, gone, _lost_. What have I _done_? It wasn't right or just - it was _monstrous_, and I _enjoyed_ it –

_Why is the room so hot? _

"Hades?" Statement, no – a question. Curious, surprised, concerned. I know that voice – my mother. "_There_ he is," says another voice. A man, gruff and old. I turn. Odin.

"My leg hurts," is all I manage to say before I collapse.

The All-Father touches my forehead with ice. It melts almost instantly when it touches my skin. "It's hot," I say, and I sound and feel delirious. A softer hand touches my shoulder. It's her, my mother. It does not comfort me like it should. The ceiling is spinning above me.

"…Should've _never_ left you in there. That man is dangerous – gets into peoples' heads. Sorry lad, I should've known better." He tries to put ice on my neck, but I brush him off. "Don't… call me… 'lad'," I wheeze. "I'm older…than you." He chuckles, and his voice sounds muffled. My ears are ringing. My leg hurts and the world is spinning, and -

"Mother, it's so _hot_," I say, and I can only see half the ceiling now because my eyes are rolling back. She says something, but I can't hear her, and Odin's muffled words do little to settle my nerves. But then he does something, or she does something, I can't tell, can't be sure, and the room stops baking me, and the world stops spinning, I see water on my forearms, and the blood that was on my hands is mostly gone.

I blink. "What was _that_?" I still feel shaken, and my leg still hurts. Nausea is still roiling in my belly, and I feel sick. _Torturer,_ I tell myself. _Sadist._

Odin pulls me up from underneath my arms. I wave my hand and my clothes return to my body, along with my staff to support myself. "A trap," he says, wiping his brow. Trap? _He's clouding your sight, can't you see? _Damn_. _She could look past it; she knew_. _ "We all fell for it. I didn't realize it until my mind cleared, because all he was focused on at the point was _you_. In all my years, I don't think I've ever been so easily manipulated."

"You think he let himself be captured on purpose."

Odin nods, rubbing his thick, white beard. "He's got some control over emotions. Can sense them and twist them and make people do what he wants. Breaks down our rationality and leaves us feral and more violent than we already are. Probably wanted you to do something to hurt him, to test you, and for what ends, I'm not sure of yet. But, I don't think he was expecting…that. But he's dangerous, even in chains."

I scratch my chin, and my stomach roils. _Sadist_. Just like him – _disgusting_. "I don't want _anyone_ speaking to him, or feeding him or even fucking getting _close_ to him besides the damn _cats_." He will never know they're there. Odin looks at me. "You're not like him, lad. You're not, so stop thinking it." But I _enjoyed_ it. The old man just sighs, shakes his head.

My mother touches my shoulder, turns me from him. This is the first time I have seen her in many, many years. And, she has aged, considerably – there are crow's feet wrinkles at her eyes, even though she isn't smiling, and her curls of golden-red hair have streaks of gray in them now. She touches my cheek, and then the scar that runs across my face, jagged and ugly. "Mother," I breathe, finally, _really_ acknowledging her for the first time. She is _here_, she is not dead. She is silently crying now, drops of water running down her face, and I can see them there in her eyes – Zeus, Poseidon…Hera. All gone. "Mother," I say again, and she wastes no time now, pulling me into a tight embrace and burying her head against my chest. She cries, her hands twisting into the fabric that covers my back. "My son," she says. _My son, my son_. Broken and battered, and not pretty, but her son; the only one she has left. First born boy, second child swallowed, darkest of the six. Ruler of it all, now. A mantra over and over, and I hold her. I can offer no words of comfort; my brothers and sister are dead, have been for months, and the grief still holds me.

I will never be able to rule over the dead again.

It is only when Odin clears his throat that she lets go. "What is it?" I ask. She needs her time, and I need her counsel. He pets his bird – I had not even noticed it flying in – feeding it a piece of corn, and his good eye looks back at me. "Aphrodite has made her move."

And so, it begins:

The beginning of the end.

A/N: I hoped you all enjoyed this – I tried to get a longer chapter out – and yes, guys, it is indeed the beginning of the end – BUT, there are still plenty of chapters to come, so don't fret. :P Love you all, and thank you for sticking with me.


	40. Hope Spot

Chapter 40: Hope Spot

JIM

Lights, cameras, action. Everything's set up. Everything is going according to plan. We're in the Great Hall of the palace, and all the leaders are there, in their suits and ties and looking confused as hell. They're not dreaming anymore now, nuh uh; they're held to their chairs with unbreakable cuffs. There's cameras everywhere, filming different angles of the room. Venus is seated on Zeus' throne, dressed in an elegant black gown that shows off her shoulders and neck and I have to shake my head to keep from staring at her. There's a camera right in front of her too, and the lights are set. I never really noticed how beautiful the palace was before; all marbled columns and gold trappings and graceful carvings in stone. There were statues in the courtyard; statues of the Olympian gods. I didn't see a statue of Hades. It's just as well; I would've fucking smashed it anyways. Alex and Tugg and the other guys are handling the cameras, and I'm standing here in the back –

I want to watch Venus. I want to watch her, because she looks just like Viola.

She winks at me, and then it begins.

"Good evening," she says, and I can hear all the different languages she says it in. Having powers sure has its perks, don't it? "I know you all must be terribly confused, and I do _sincerely_ apologize for that." She purses her lips in the way that makes my knees go to jelly. "But, I'm afraid that this is what has to be done. Your leaders have been taken and your world has turned cold; you hear thunder when there are no storms, feel earthquakes beneath your feet, and you are _afraid_. And you should be; these are such very _frightening _times." The cameras pass over the different leaders, and I can't even fucking imagine what the people of the world are thinking – how fucking _scared_ they must be. The whole time, Venus smiles. "But that's not really true, is it? The world never belonged to you – it belonged to the gods. The _old gods_. The gods your ancestors prayed to, and the gods you write stories about today – they exist, and they have caused you torment, for centuries; for _thousands_ of years. And so now, I give you, humanity, a choice – side with us, _worship_ us, and have peace or . . . side with them, and see the world that we would give to you peacefully crumble to pieces. To the old gods, I say this: surrender now, and you shall receive mercy, _but_ . . . fight us, and you _will_ suffer. The choice," she says, narrowing her eyes and widening her smile, "Is entirely yours."

That night, I dream, and I see _Him_.

CORA

He's gripping my hand tightly, and the baby kicks. He was unsettled after seeing Amon, I could tell, and that night he didn't sleep at all. And gods, I've found, need to rest just like normal people. When I manage to wrench my head from what's happening on-screen, he looks completely exhausted. But, he's not the only one who's tired; Odin looks drawn and scruffy, and even Bast, who is always so elegant, has got dark circles under her eyes. Less of the cats have been coming back – now there's only a few hundred that we have, and only about 20 we can send out. Folkvarthr's been keeping tabs on Rachel for me. She's safe, and so is Bobby; but New York is in pandemonium, and Folkvarthr and Dewey keep them safe, at my request. Folkvarthr is here today, though; it's Dewey's turn, I guess. People still have power; still try to go about their daily lives, but it's a struggle, when the season that should feel warm and hopeful is snowy and cold.

When I had first seen his mother, (My grandmother, it's strange to think. I don't try to dwell on it.) she looked radiant, with hair that shown like gold and was as warm as fire. But then I saw it – the age on her face, in her hair; almost imperceptible, at first, but once you saw it, that's _all_ you could see. But she is ancient, and she is strong, and she came here to help us. We _need_ it. I feel Hades squeeze my hand, and I look back at the screen, and my head starts to ache; I remember her –

_Aphrodite_. Venus, she calls herself now. I remember . . . I'd thought she was my friend. Instead, she was the mastermind of all this. Everything, from the beginning, and I feel angry when I see her, but I also feel sad; hollow.

Empty.

She keeps talking, and I feel like she's looking straight at him;_ daring_ him, _mocking _him, and he stiffens when she says, "The choice . . . is entirely yours."

The screen goes blank, and the room is quiet. We've made a sanctuary here; a stronghold in this town, and the humans go about their days without even questioning us. The resort is huge, and the room we're in has a big screen at the front. There are 300 of us here, not including the cats. Many gods have chosen to stay at their strongholds, and I guess that it was more about personal spite that Venus attacked Olympus first before any other seat of power. She _did_ know it best. But the other seats are being sieged; they refuse to leave, to join us here, and they refuse to surrender. The 300 here are all that are allied. Finally, one of the gods stands – Quetzalcoatl, standing up strong and proud, and past his guise of a Native American man, you can see his feathers, and his tail and his power. You can also see sadness there.

"My friends," he says, and his tone is somber and resigned. I think about my dad, and his last few days in the hospital. Resigned to a fate he didn't pick. "I have chosen to go."

"Go?" my husband asks, standing up to face the feathered serpent. He's released my hand, and I can see him flexing his fingers. "Go _where_?"

"To surrender, Lord Hades."

"Your Grace," Hades corrects, but it's stilted and awkward, and he sounds distracted even as he says the words. "You can't do that – we _need_ you, Quetzalcoatl. We need your strength." I can feel the energy rise in him – panic and anger fueling him, and I wonder anyone else can feel it too.

"Your Grace," Quetzalcoatl amends. He doesn't bow – he's a king too; a king with no subjects, but still a king. "I am old. We all are, but I can feel it in my bones. I am stretched thin; I can _feel_ the earth, cold and dying, and it . . . _pains_ me. I want this cycle to end; to start anew. I want to feel . . . _ whole_ again. So I will surrender, and the world will become less cold. And maybe I _will_ die, but I cannot keep living like _this_."

Hades shakes his head. "Are you a _fool_?" he seethes, "Did you not see what they did to my brothers – to _my king_? They will torture you, kill you, and _we_ will have one less god on_ our_ side."

Quetzalcoatl sighs and shrugs, and I can see his hurt. "I have made my decision, Hades, and you will not dissuade me from it." I can see my husband tense, clench his fists. "Very well," he says, nearly spitting out the words, "We have no need for a _craven_. Leave."

The air cackles, and Quetzalcoatl's eyes burn like fire, glaring at Hades, and in less than a second, he's right in front of him; right in his face. "You dare to call _me_ craven, _Cripple King_?" I can feel Hades, and there is no fear there; only anger. It's what some of the gods call him, behind his back – they'd never dare tell him that to his face. Except now, Quetzalcoatl has, and there's inky black tendrils starting to form around Hades' body, and the room's temperature has dropped. He has a strange duality, my husband – able to be hot and searing, and yet cold and desolate. Right now, he's both, and I can feel his burning anger just below the surface. Fists and jaw clenched, he says, "'Cripple King,' you say? Better to be crippled than craven, I say." There's a hard cracking sound, and I feel a strong kick in my stomach when I look at Hades, nose broken and gold blood pouring down from his nostrils. With a sickening crack, Hades sets his nose back, and it starts to heal. Quetzalcoatl's fist is still closed, and his breathing is rough and ragged. "I'll not be called craven by _you_, _Cripple King_. You, who wanders around sleeplessly at night for fear of dreaming. No, Hades – if anyone here is craven, it's _you_." Hades wipes the blood from his frowning mouth, but it doesn't change anything. He _is_ a cripple, and seeing him stand without his staff to support him, I can see how his right leg shakes. "**_Get. Out_**." His voice is sharp and thick; steel on gravel. The inky black tendrils are starting to cover his hands, and there's dark flames there, dancing at the ends of his fingertips. Quetzalcoatl smiles, but it's grim and sad, and there isn't any sort of amusement. He bows his head, says, "As you wish, _Your Grace_," and leaves, regal and dignified, and hated. "_If anyone else wishes to leave, you best do so now_," Hades grits out through his teeth. "_It won't do us good to suffer any more cravens or fools._" No one stirs, and I feel a small bit of relief. We won't be alone in this fight. We're 299.

I try to reach for Hades' hand, but I feel a cramp, and bring a hand to rest over my belly. And then, I feel _it_ – barely noticeable, not like with Jim – a trickle of water between my legs. There's another cramp, more painful than before, and when I try to say his name, all that comes from my mouth is a moan. Suddenly, though, I feel my mother's hands on my shoulders, and she hisses, "_Hades_."

He turns, with narrowed eyes. "**_What_**, Demeter?"

"She's ready, _Your Grace_." Her voice is laced with sarcasm and hatred. I see his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows, and there's another cramp, and yup –

I'm definitely ready.

HADES

It's a difficult labor. So difficult that they had to remove me, because I was beginning to lose patience and panic. The only ones in there with her now are Demeter, Hestia, Athena, and Bast.

"She'll be fine," my mother says, taking my hand in hers. "She's a goddess."

"And the babe?" I rub my throbbing thigh with my other hand. It's been hurting more since the incident with Amon, and sleep has become nearly impossible, despite my exhaustion. "What of the babe?"

I keep my eyes fixed on the window, looking outside at the gray sky and summer snow. Folkvarthr jumps on my lap, curling up and falling fast asleep. I feel my mother's hand grow tighter around mine. "The babe will be fine too, Aidoneus." I swallow. _Gods can die_.

"How can you be sure?"

I feel her lips on my cheek, and she runs a hand through my hair. She has never been this affectionate with me. "I remember when you were just a babe. I kept my pregnancy from your father. You were born in secret, in a small glade – I still remember the small stream that flowed near us, and the flowers and green grass that circled and surrounded us next to the trees overhead." A glade? Could it be . . . the glade from my dreams? She curls a lock of my hair between her fingers, smiles. "You were born with thick, black hair, just like your father, and when you opened your eyes, I fell in love. Blue, like Ouranos. For a week, I held you there in my arms, and you would look at the stars in the sky, and smile. It was a beautiful smile, Aidoneus; it would light up your whole little face. And you never cried, you were silent and strong. I could feel your little heart beating against me, hardy and sound, and when I looked at you, son – when I looked at you, I felt like everything would be alright. You would make your father see reason; he would take one look at you, see himself in you, and release Hestia. He would love again."

"But he didn't." There's a bitter taste in my mouth. His words ring in my mind, from all those months ago, and I close my eyes. _Decaying from the inside out, and filled with fear. My actions towards you and your brothers and sisters – I was mad, son._

Her hand is on my shoulder, and I lean into the touch. "No, my son, he didn't. I did my best to keep you safe – to keep _all_ your brothers and sisters safe, but he always found us. Zeus was the last one, and I left him, and he was spared. I should have left you, too; left you to be raised by some of the creatures in the glade. There was a mother wolf that took an interest in you; she would've reared you until you were strong enough to face your father. But I loved you. I loved you so much, and I was . . . selfish, Aidoneus. I saw your big, beautiful blue eyes; your kind and happy smile, and I . . . couldn't let you go." She turns my head – makes me look at her – and smiles at me. My jaw feels uncomfortably tight. "When I look at you now and see the man you've become - strong and just – I couldn't be more proud." I hear my wife's screams, and I tense. I should be in there with her. My mother kisses my cheek. "Everything will be fine, Aidoneus. You will hold that child in your arms, and you will feel love like you've never felt before."

"No, Mother," I shake my head, "I have felt it before." I feel the exhaustion that's plagued me run through my body, and I lay my head against her shoulder. I close my eyes. I just need to rest them. Just a moment…

I am on a New York City street, and the night is warm. I look down at myself, dressed in jeans and a black button-down, with a cane in one hand, and my helm in the other.

"This is…odd…"

"_You!_" I turn to the sound of the familiar voice, now deeper and heavier, but still his. He has grown taller, and he has grown more muscle. His jawline has become more defined, and the cleft in his chin has become more pronounced. His hair still shines like an auburn fire, but his brow is furrowed and his green eyes are narrowed at me.

"Jim?" His fists are clenched at his sides, and I see hatred in his green eyes. "Jim?" I ask again. I know it's really him; that this is a dream we're sharing. I see it then; the shift in his hips, the twitch in his wrist.

His attack comes swiftly, and with a savage roar; I scarcely have time to parry the sword as it flies down towards my face. I drop my helm. The strength in the blow catches me off guard as well, and before I have a chance to really get my bearings, he starts swinging an uppercut, infused with cackling blue lightning, and I avoid his strike by traveling through the ether and reappearing behind him. I put my cane to the side of his throat, turning it into my staff. He cants his head to look back at me. "Jim, what's going on?" _Why are you attacking me?_

The ground beneath us begins to shake and crack, and his hair starts to lift upwards. Swiftly, he turns, hitting my staff away from his neck with his sword – _my sword; the sword I gave him _– and we move back in a flurry of sword strikes and parries. He is strong and fast, faster than I've ever seen him, and he's caught me off-guard twice. _I cannot keep doing this_, I think to myself. _I need space_.

In a desperate move, I charge my staff down, chancing that he might land a blow before the waves of energy from the weapon knock him away from me. He falls down onto his back, but he quickly gets up, poised and ready. This time, so am I, and we begin circling each other. "Jim, why are you doing this?" I try to keep my voice calm, but it comes out flustered. _Why_ is he doing this? Have they _done_ something to him?

_New god lies_, I tell myself. _New god hatred_.

"You know why," he says, and his face is fierce and angry, with his teeth bared and his brow furrowed. He is savage and brutal, now. Despite all that, and against the anger I feel at his words, I chuckle. "No, Jimbo, I really don't."

_That_ was a mistake.

Jim growls, running towards me in a flash of lightning. This time, I miss the parry, and his sword – _my sword; the one I gave him_ – slices through my shoulder, and pain blinds me. I travel through the ether again, reappearing on top of a building in a flash of smoke, and I cup my shoulder. My teeth grind as the flesh burns, and I suppress a hiss as the sinews and bone come back together and reattach.

"You're getting slow, old man." His voice is behind me. He may not be able to travel through the ether, but he is still fast. Incredibly so.

I laugh, but it's mirthless. I roll my shoulder, turn to face him. My heart aches at the hatred I see in his eyes. I try to smile, but it does not come. "I haven't gotten slower, Jimbo. You've just gotten faster." His nostrils flare. "Don't fucking call me that. _Don't_ you fucking call me that." He makes a motion with his hands, and suddenly, I feel an intense pressure in my ears and on my shoulders, and I'm forced down onto my knees. My breathing is restricted and my chest feels tight. I look up, and past his angry face I can see stars, numerous as the day I first looked out from my father's prison.

"Everything you ever told me was a _lie_," he growls, moving closer. The pressure on my chest has grown heavier, and I lean forward onto my hands. "Jim," I take in a deep breath; I feel light-headed, "I don't know what they've been telling you, but I never lied to you –" **_Crack._** The kick to my ribs is swift, and the pain is sharp, and I remember when Amon had his goons do the same thing. I grip my staff tightly as another kick comes. I need to do _something._ "I fucking _trusted_ you, you know that? Of course you know. You _always_ fucking knew that." I can hear my breathing and my heartbeat rushing loud in my ears. He kicks me onto my back, and I groan when my leg screams in protest. And then, he _digs _his heel into my injured thigh, and the choked sound I make is pitiful. "Now so tough now, right Hades? Not so _godly_." He steps harder onto my thigh, and it's all I can do not to bite my tongue or retch. "I _trusted_ you," he says again, his voice shaking. I feel wet drops on my face. Tears.

His.

"Jim," I breathe, and it's ragged and harsh.

"Quiet," he says. "Shut the fuck up. I won't listen anyways." I feel the blade of his sword – _my sword; the one I gave him_ – cut the underside of my chin. "I'm a _killer_ now," he says, hysterical. "A _murderer_." For all his strength and brutality, he is just a child.

"No Jim," I say, feeling the cool blade cut into my skin. As king of the Underworld, I know men's hearts. This boy no _killer_.

This boy is _lost_.

And Aphrodite has her claws in him.

He looks at me, pain in his eyes. "You are your mother's son. You are _good_, Jim."

He shakes his head. "You don't know shit, man." He pushes the blade deeper into my skin, and I feel my blood pulse out from the wound. "You killed my dad. Killed _Viola_. You set me up for all this, and now I'm soiled and _ruined_."

_New god lies._

_ New god hatred. _

I shake my head. "No, Jim. You're not soiled," and then more forcefully, "_you're not_."

He clenches his jaw, and I can see his eyes glow. "I **_hate_** you." That hurts more than any blow or strike I've ever been given, and my chest aches.

"That's fine," I say. This is a dream. I will not hurt him, but I will no longer let him hurt me.

_I will not hurt him_.

Whatever pressure he's put on my chest has lifted, and I spot a nearby water tank. I feel Poseidon's strength in me, and I breathe deeply, looking at the sky, and the clouds overhead.

'_Poseidon and Zeus. Their strength is mine, now.'_

_ 'Yes,' Folkvarthr said. 'Their power is yours to use as you see fit, Your Grace.'_

_ This is only a dream, _I tell myself_. This is only a dream, and I will not hurt him. _

_ But I will defend myself. _

I move my hand out towards the water tower, and Jim twitches. "What the fuck are you doing?"

I smirk at him, because he sounds like the boy I remember. "Training you." I snap my fingers, and the water from the tower rushes towards us in a roaring, splashing wave that knocks him away in surprise, and lifts me in its embrace, and I feel strength return to me. To think, this is what Poseidon felt. The strength of currents and waves; and though the water may be fresh, and not salt, the power is _there,_ all the same. I look up at the clouds, closing my fist slowly, and storm clouds begin to form over us. I breathe in, twirling my staff, and twisters of green and black flames begin to spin around me.

I rule over the skies, and the oceans, and the Underworld. I am _not_ to be trifled with.

The set in Jim jaw grows tighter, and as he sits up, soaked to the bone, his eyes begin to glow, and he starts to levitate.

_The Aether Soul. _It is not my voice that says this, nor is it Jim's and for a moment we are both distracted. _He lives in you. _

Jim and I both shake our heads, and the sound of the voice disappears. "I'll burn you," Jim says, and his voice is distant. "I'll burn you all."

I narrow my eyes, bringing forth lightning from the storm to mix with my twisters of flame and darkness and water. I can't see the stars anymore. They are covered by black clouds. "Try it," I smirk, "Jimbo."

He screams, and he sends a ball of blue, scorching energy towards me; the building beneath us melts, and the heat of it boils the water surrounding me. I send forth a blast of wind, and the ball explodes on contact, sending both Jim and I flying back.

I laugh. "Is that all you have, _boy_?"

"**_Shut up!_**" he screams. "**_SHUT THE FUCK UP!_**"

I cock my head to the side, raising my eyebrow in the way that I know irritates him. "Come here and make me then, Jim."

He snarls, and blue swirls of electricity start to flow around him. "**_FUCK YOU, MOTHERFUCKER_**!"

I smile. "I would make a lewd joke, but that'd be too easy."

He snaps. I've caught him. He rushes forward, faster than I can see; in a blink of blue and white light. I know where he is going to be, and when I feel the air change around me, I immediately close my arms. And he's there; solid and strong against my chest, and feral and angry in my embrace.

"Jim, listen to me," I say, and my arms burn as I struggle to keep him close to me, "You are _good_."

He weeps against my chest. "No, no I'm **_not_**."

_Damn you, Aphrodite. Damn you to the deepest pit of Tartarus. _

I embrace him more tightly; keep my hand on the back of his skull. "No." I kiss the top of his head, and his weeping increases, soaking through my shirt and onto my chest. "No, Jim. You are _good_ and _kind_. You are your mother's son."

_You are __**my**__ son._

"I can't trust you," he cries. "I can't trust anyone. You . . . killed my dad. You killed Viola. I . . . I **_hate_** you." I shake my head. I do not tell him he is wrong. He knows it in his heart.

"You can hate me, Jim, but I will never hate you."

He twists his hands into the fabric covering my back, and his grip grows tighter. "I miss my mom," he cries. "I miss my mom and my dad and Viola and I just want to be _good _again."

My breath hitches, and I feel something wet on my cheeks. Tears.

Mine.

"You _are_ good, Jim."

He shakes his head, and I feel the fabric covering my back tear, and then I feel something else: heat, and pain, and I am blinded by light.

Molecules, ripping apart. Atoms splitting.

We are both gone.

_Jim._

_ 'It's all your fault, Hades.'_

_ 'Hades, it's all your fault.'_

_ 'Hades, wake up.'_

_ 'Wake up.'_

It may be my fault –

'_Wake up.'_

But I can do it –

_'Wake up.'_

_**I can save him. **_

"Aidoneus, wake up!"

I blink open my eyes, and I feel uncomfortably sticky in my robes. I've sweated quite a bit. My mother is shaking my shoulder, and I feel incredibly weary. "The child is close," she says, "They want you in there, now." I look up and see Demeter, and she eyes me warily. "_I_ don't want you in there, but my _daughter_ does."

I nod, and instantly, we are there through the ether, courtesy of Demeter. When I arrive, there are many gods and goddess at the door, and Persephone looks at me, delirious. "Hades," she breathes. I rush over to her, ignoring the protest in my leg.

"I kept telling them I wanted you here, but they wouldn't listen."

I tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "There's nothing for it now, my love. I'm here now." She grabs a hold of my hand, squeezes and moans.

"You're _so_ close, Persephone," Hestia says. "You can do it."

I kiss her forehead. It seems an age of screaming and moaning, but then it happens - another moan, and another squeeze of my hand, and then I hear _it_: the sound of a babe's cry. I press my forehead against hers, feeling overwhelmed. "It's done," I say, almost to myself.

It feels like hours as they clean the babe, but it can only be a few minutes. Still, everything feels slow to me, and my ears ring. And then, Hestia smiles at me, placing the child on my wife's chest. "She's a girl," Hestia says.

A girl.

Persephone smiles. I look down at her, at the infant in her arms, with black curling hair, and she opens her eyes, and I can see myself reflected in pools of blue. "She looks like you," Persephone says.

"She does," I whisper. I reach over, gently touching her cheek, and then I see her smile. Just like her mother's. "She looks like both of us," I say, kissing my wife's shoulder. "What should we name her?"

Persephone smiles down at her, kisses my cheek. "She'll be a singer – she's got some lungs on her," she laughs, "What do you think of . . . Aria?"

I look down at her. My daughter. _Our daughter_.

"Aria," I say, smiling and touching her chubby cheek. The whole time, I don't notice the angels, look at us, observing us, until I hear Raguel say, "Yes, Dumah. This is, indeed, _very interesting_." I am suddenly aware of _everyone else _in the room, now – Odin has stepped in, and Hel as well, asking if the baby will play chess _and of course not Hel, she's an __**infant**_ and Folkvarthr is just sitting there being useless and Demeter is glaring at me, and my mother is smiling at me and this. Is. Too. Much.

Persephone seems to notice me tense, because she kisses my cheek again and whispers, "Do you want to hold her?"

I suppose my loud gulp is response enough. She places her in my arms, all bundled and cleaned, and not at all like the mess I saw from the corner of my eye only minutes ago, when she was born. "Like this, brother," Hestia tells me, moving my hand to cradle her head, and I feel incredibly brutish and clumsy. "It's not hard," my sister says, reassuring me, and all I can do is stiffly nod my head. Once Hestia is satisfied with the way I'm holding Aria, I'm free to look at her, and everyone else in the room disappears. She looks up at me with curious blue eyes. "Hello, little one," I say, "I'm your lord father."

Persephone snorts, breaking my reverie. "Don't say that, _lord husband_," she says, weakly chuckling. She's exhausted, but she's smiling. I roll my eyes. "What would you have her call me then, _my queen_?"

She smiles, sighing. "Papa," she says. "Have her call you 'Papa.'" Somewhere in the back, I hear Odin's rumbling laughter, and even Thor's.

I snort. _Papa_. Fine. That likely will not last, but Persephone is exhausted and so am I, and I will appease her. I look back down at Aria. "Hello little one," I say again, "I'm your Papa."

And she smiles at me.

* * *

A/N: Hope ya'll liked this. Hope in the middle of all this chaos :) Again, I'd like to thank you all for reading this.


	41. Don't Break Character - You've Got a Lot

Chapter 41: Don't Break Character – You've Got a Lot of Heart

HADES

Athena has her arms crossed, her black hair tied back. She is staring down Thor with her gray, steely eyes.

Thor smashes his fist down on the table. "This is _bullshit_." He takes a sip from his beer, closing his other fist, and his large hands look like they could crush skulls. "We should take the fight to them. _Crush them_."

Fūjin, god of wind, sits up. "I agree with Thor. There is no honor in waiting for death. We should fight them." Amaterasu shakes her head. She does not seem convinced.

Demeter rises. "I agree with Thor and Fūjin . If I am to die, I will die as a goddess."

Persephone snorts, and from the corner of my eye, I can see Aria sleeping in her arms. I just want to hold her, see her contended little smile as she falls asleep.

_"Look, Persephone, she's smiling at me."_

_ A laugh, a hand on my cheek. "Babies don't 'smile', Hades. Not at least until they're two months old."_

_ "But – "_

_ A kiss on my cheek, a soft touch on my neck. Reassuring. "Don't worry. She's quiet when you hold her. Your strong arms probably make her feel good. That's why she's smiling." _

"You can't be serious, Mother. We're probably heavily outnumbered – we can't just go in, guns blazing, like a bunch of big damned heroes."

Demeter eyes her daughter with distaste, crossing her arms. "I am entirely serious, _Your Grace_." She ignores my glare.

Loki laughs, and it is an irritating sound. "You're an idiot if you think Thor's right. He's a warrior, not a commander. He wouldn't know strategy if it hit him in the face."

"Shut your mouth, Trickster, or I'll-"

"Take me back down to the pit with the snake and the woman and the entrails of my son and blah, blah, blah – get more creative with your threats, Thor."

"Oh no, Thor's getting drunk again. Now we won't be able to play chess."

Odin sets his feet up on the table as he lights a cigar. "Persephone is right; we're probably heavily outnumbered. Do we know how many of them there are now?"

Bast clears her throat, and Folkvarthr jumps up onto the table. He looks like a full-grown cat now. He licks his paw, wipes his head. "From their various movements across the world, my brethren estimate them to be about 30,000 strong."

_30,000 strong. How can we even hope to survive? _

Odin puffs out the smoke, and I can see an image of a large army. "The odds are not in our favor."

"Have they ever been? This is the natural order of things. We are only prolonging the inevitable."

"Be quiet, Kali. You know as well as I that this is not how our world is supposed to end."

Her red eyes glare, burning fires into the god sitting across from her. "You know nothing, Ganesh."

Athena looks at me, steel in her eyes. "What do _you_ think, Your Grace?"

I lean forward, resting my chin on my folded hands. I feel Persephone's hand on my thigh. I look at the gods in the room – de facto leaders of their pantheons, all tired and weary. I clear my throat. "We're outnumbered, and the new gods have proven to be physically stronger than us in most confrontations. Lack of worship has made many of us weak; not _all_ of us, but many, and the humans are probably worshipping the new gods in our stead, so that adds to their strength and to our weakness. Athena, you suggest that we should hunker down for a siege, but to what end? These walls will not hold them. We can make a barrier to surround the hotel, but that will take energy we don't have. . . "

"Exactly," Thor says, standing. "So we should attack."

"Not necessarily," I say. "To attack them straight on would seal our deaths. We're too outnumbered. They'd kill us all before we got the chance to get to their front gate."

"An ambush, then," Athena says. "Like what they did to us at Olympus."

"Perhaps," Odin says, blowing another puff of smoke, "but how does an army of less than 300 ambush an army of 30,000?"

"What if we poison them?" Persephone asks. I look at her. "Poison?"

She nods, and I feel her hand on my thigh. "We use the cats to travel to Olympus, find their food or find them sleeping in their beds, and poison them."

I consider that for a moment. It could work, were it not so many to poison. "I don't know . . . "

"Poison is a woman's weapon," Thor grunts. "I want a battle. I'm worth 10,000 of these new god cravens."

Athena rolls her eyes. "That may be true, Thor, but that still leaves 20,000 for the rest of us."

My head is starting to ache. "War is here, no matter what we do," I say, feeling all the eyes in the room turn back to me. "The battle – the attack – _will_ come. We have been preparing for nine months, but we are not ready for 30,000 gods. But we never will be. This is not a traditional battle of men – we are gods. What use is flanking, when we can travel through the ether? What use is sieging? Traditional strategy is meaningless. What matters is numbers, and we do not have them."

I hear my mother's voice, then, clear through the silence of the thinking gods. "So what do we do, my son? Do you suggest surrender?"

"They did offer amnesty. . . " says Amaterasu. Loki laughs.

I shake my head. "No." I shake my head again. "No, you do not know these gods like I do. There will be _no_ amnesty. If we surrender, they will torture us until they grow tired of it, and then they will kill us."

"Then what, Hades?" Everyone is looking at me. _I don't know._ _I didn't ask for this cup to pass to me. I don't know._ I place my head in my hands. We're all going to die unless we do something. Everyone is looking at me. When did I suddenly become the leader of the leaders?

_I don't know. I need help._

I blink, and I smell sulfur and ash. Tartarus.

"_No, but good guess_."

"Who's there?"

Suddenly the flames around me turn into the hall of a glowing, red palace, and at the end of it sits a being more beautiful than anything I have _ever_ seen. He – she? – smiles at me, and I am pulled forward, to kneel right in front of the creature's glowing, golden throne.

It peers down at me, and I feel naked and exposed. "_I don't understand why I always get confused with you. Stand up, let me have a closer look at you._" It snaps its fingers, and suddenly I am bolted upright, and my leg feels like it's been stabbed. "_You're really not quite what I expected, Hades Aidoneus Clymenus Polydectes. Wow, that's quite a mouthful. Do you mind if I just call you Hades?_" Somehow, it forces me to shake my head, no. It smiles. "_Glad we understand each other. Now, see, I've been watching you and your little-god-friends for quite some time, trying to figure out why my father has taken such an interest to send those two pretty idiots to observe you. And I have to admit, watching you have your war has been the most fun I've had in about 3 billion years. So I have a proposition for you, Hades – you and all your friends – keep being interesting, and because I'm feeling generous, I'll bring their forces down to half. You can handle 15,000 gods, can't you?_"

"You're Lucifer, aren't you?"

It nods, flashing pure-white teeth. "_So astute, Hades; no wonder you "old" gods are losing this war._" Everything about this creature reminds me of Amon. It snaps its fingers. "_Remember what I said, Hades – keep it interesting, and I just might help you. Now run along, little cripple, and say hello to your father for me._"

"My fath – "

The ground is ripped from underneath me and soon I am falling, falling, falling – down into a dark pit and I crash into the ground, breaking my arm and a few ribs. "**_Fuck_**." I try to sit up, but my body screams and my head spins and I end up lying on my back. There's a sound of footsteps, but I can barely move without eliciting any sort of pain, so I keep still.

Gold eyes look down at me, curious. "Aidoneus," my father says. "It's been a while."

"Zeus and Poseidon are dead," I blurt before thinking. "So is Hera." His face doesn't change, not even a little. "A pity," he says. "Are you alright?"

I try to move again, and now my body seems to have healed. I nod, sitting up. He kneels beside me. "There's a war, Father. A war we can't win, and I don't know what to do." And I tell him everything, even though I don't trust him.

He scratches his beard. "Lucifer, you say?"

I nod, thinking about the pure-white teeth and the strange voice that seemed to crawl its way into my mind.

"I remember that name," he says. "An angel of the Creator – the most powerful, and the most arrogant."

"We need to win this war." _For humanity, for my children._

"I wouldn't trust him," my father says.

"I don't." _But what choice do I have?_

He looks at me, emotion in his golden eyes indiscernible. "You are King now, my son. You must lead." _But I don't know what to do._

I place my head in my hands. "I lead them to ruin." _I don't know what to do. I need help. _

He clasps a hand on my shoulder, squeezes it. "Be strong, Aidoneus. Be strong like I know you are. _You_ are stronger than I ever was – your heart, your character. You've got _so_ much heart, son, and that's strength - you can _do_ this."

I look up at him. "What would you do?" I ask him suddenly. "Father, what would you do?"

He tells me, and I feel myself and the world start to fade, and there's a slapping at my face.

"He's coming around. . ."

"We can't even get through a meeting without him passing out. . . "

There's warm liquid dripping from my nose, and I can smell iron. Blood. Red. Mortal – coming from me.

I open my eyes, and I'm being held up in my seat by Odin. "What happened?" I ask. "How long was I out?"

Odin's gruff voice answers mine. "You fainted not more than a second ago; would've hit your head pretty hard had it not been for your wife's quick skills with her abilities." _Not more than a second ago. _

I brush off his hands, clean my face. The blood on my hands is gold, not red. I breathe a sigh of relief that I didn't know I was holding in. I lean back in my seat. "There's been some developments," I say. They're all looking at me. I tell them.

My mother looks at me, afraid. "_Typhon, son?_"

"_Lucifer?_" Bast gasps. Folkvarthr shakes his head. "He is too powerful. We can't even begin to comprehend his designs on us, or _you_, in particular, Plouton. And Typhon is no friend to your kind – "

I slam my fist on the table, and I see Thor jump. "_We don't have a choice_!" Eyes all around me, scared and unsure. I lower my voice. "We are _all_ going to die if we don't do this."

Persephone touches my knee, and I look at her and Aria, whose eyes are opened and looking frightened.

_She's frightened of . . . me. _

"We don't even know if he'll do what he says, my love. He _is_ Lucifer, after all. Master of Lies . . . and he's . . . _evil_."

_Evil._ What is morality to a being like that? I shake my head. "No, no we don't, you're right, Persephone. But regardless, he has taken interest in this conflict like the Creator, whether we like it or not." I look around for the two angels, but they are nowhere to be seen. "Which is why I propose that we release Typhon."

Demeter stands up, shouting. "Madness, Hades – you speak _madness_!"

"Typhon will destroy us before we even have a chance to fight-"

"Who is Typhon?" Odin asks.

"We're going to die, all of us. . . "

"_I want a battle!_"

Voices, shouts, screams. I'm starting to lose control of them. "Enough, enough, **_enough_**!" I stand, placing the palms of my hands on the table to support myself. "Everyone,_ shut _your damn mouths and _listen_ for a fucking minute. This is what we're going to do: we are going to poison as many as we can – we'll send the cats." _Folkvarthr_, I say, reaching out for his consciousness. _Do not hurt my son. Keep him safe; lead him away from the carnage. When Typhon is released, he will destroy everything he sees._

_ As you wish, Master Plouton. _I continue, clearing my dry throat again, "Meanwhile, Hermes will go to Mount Etna, and release –"

"What, _me_? No, no –"

I glare at him. "Don't you **_ever_** question my authority, Hermes. You're going to do this, or _I'll_ kill you _myself_, do you understand?"

He gulps. "Y-Yes, Uncle. I mean! I mean, Y-Your Grace. . . "

"Good. You will release Typhon from Mount Etna, and lead him to Olympus, and as soon as you're done there, you will report back here immediately, understand?"

He nods. "Yes, Your Grace."

I look around the room and see my child, asleep again in her mother's arms. "And here, we will make our stand and fight." I look at all the gods in room; look right into their eyes. They need to believe what I am saying, or I will never believe it myself. "And we will win, because we have something to fight for. And the new gods will know our wrath."

Thor stands up, chuckling. "I knew I'd grow to like you, you surly bastard." He walks over to me, clasps a hand on my shoulder and lifts my arm into the air. "Hades, King of the Gods!"

"Hades, King of the Gods!" Fūjin repeats, and soon, Bast and Folkvarthr join, and even Kali and Ganesh. "Hades, King of the Gods!" Odin shouts, laughing and lifting his cigar at me.

_I am their king._

_ Hades, King of Gods._

_ I cannot lose, I cannot lead them to ruin. _

_ I __**will**__ not. _

PERSEPHONE

Rhea touches my shoulder as the meeting ends, and I feel Aria squirm. "Let me take the babe for a while, sweet one. You look like you need rest." I smile.

"Thank you." I hand her Aria, and Rhea smiles down at her. "My, my – she really does look like him."

My smile grows wider. "She does."

Rhea looks up at me, nods towards Hades. "You both need rest."

"I'll pick her up around 8:00; she gets hungry by then."

Rhea nods, smiling, holding Aria close to her, and she walks down the hall.

I follow behind my husband. He sits down on the thick, wide chair in our room, pinching the bridge of his nose. He takes a deep breath, blinks, and finds a very interesting spot on the floor to stare at. The fireplace is on and his face is illuminated by orange and yellow light.

"You can't control everything, Hades."

He shakes his head, sighs. "No, I know that, but, this . . . this is . . . madness." He runs his fingers through his hair, rubs his temples. He looks up at me, and his eyes are desperate. "We can't lose this war, for humanity's sake as much as ours. . . _I_ can't lose you, not again. I can't lose our daughter." He shakes his head, shuts his eyes. "I can't."

I walk over to him, run my fingers through his hair, and I can hear a contented low rumble in his chest. I sit on his lap, taking him by surprise, with my legs straddled over his hips. Stress and responsibility weigh on all our shoulders, and him especially now. I kiss his cheek. "You won't lose us." He leans his head on the crook of my neck.

"Let me show you," I tell him. I lightly run my hands over his shoulders, and his shirt disappears in clouds of flower petals. He tenses, and I reach within myself, searching for the right power, and I use it; clouds of soft flower petals, to touch his back and his face. He whispers my name, and I kiss the top of his head. "Be still, my love." I run my hands over his hard shoulders, cut and made strong by battles past, and laboring in building his palace in the Underworld. My fingers trace down the taught lines of the muscles in his arms, corded and deadly, all the way down to his hands which he's placed on the sides of my hips. The clouds caress his face and move to his arms as I reach my hands around his back. Everything is strength here; hard muscle, lean and cut, and the skin smooth, with the occasional line of a scar. He sighs, his breath coming out cool against my skin, and I shiver. I bring my hands back up to his shoulders and then trace them down his chest and over the firm muscles of his abdomen and the clouds assist me with my caresses.

"Cora," he breathes, husky and ragged.

"Persephone," I correct, and he sighs, his hands moving up to my waist. "Sit back."

He laughs. "That's twice you've commanded your king and lord husband. I could punish you for that."

I kiss his neck. "You won't." He leans back in the chair, looking at me with dark eyes. He smiles. "And why is that, my lady?"

We haven't touched each other since Aria was born a week and a half ago – there's been too much to do, and Hades insists that I need to heal, even though he knows full-well that by now with all the ambrosia, I am a full goddess, and that I was pretty much healed after she was born. And now I have him here, at my mercy. I feel excitement and giddiness and delightful wickedness. I lean in close to him, all the while turning my clouds of petals into binding clouds of vines around his wrists and ankles, holding him to the chair beneath us. He doesn't seem to notice as I get close to his ear and whisper, "Because, my _lord husband_, I am going to fuck you; fuck you so hard, that you won't even remember. I'm going to take you, right here in this chair." It's dirty and nasty and a part of me feels a _little_ ashamed at my words, but when I lean back and see the stupefied look on his face, with his mouth slightly open and his pupils so dilated that I could swear his eyes are black instead of blue, it's all worth it.

He swallows. "What."

I kiss his Adam's apple. "You heard me."

He tries to get up; tries to reach his arms around me, but the binds hold him. He doesn't like to be out of control, especially not like this. "Release me, Persephone." His voice is even gruffer than usual.

I move so that my hips are flush against his, and he hisses at the contact, already half-hard. I grind myself on him, shutting my eyes at the sensation, and I hear him curse. "Are you sure about that, husband? Let's try something new." I kiss him full on the mouth, burning and hot and earnest, and with a flick of my wrist, my clothes are gone, and I feel him shudder against me. "_Fuck_," he rasps, nodding. Consent. I grin as I grind my hips against him again; feel him straining against his pants, and he leans his forehead against my shoulder. I run my hands down his abdomen, near his bellybutton, and he's starting to move his hips against me, too, now; almost imperceptible, but he's there. I kiss the side of his neck and bite there, running my tongue against the bruise. He groans. "_Gods above_, do that again." I move my hips back from his and he grunts in frustration. I trace my hands over the top of his stomach and down towards his groin, cupping him through his jeans, and I can hear him bite down another hiss. He struggles against the binds; binds I know he could easily break, but he's playing along, enjoying this. I kiss him, and as I run my hand over him one more time, I make the rest of his clothes disappear.

HADES

Nerves on fire. Over-sensitive, too much. It's too much, and she's _enjoying _it; enjoying watching me squirm. She smiles at me darkly, kissing me as she takes me in her hand, hot and heavy and I can feel myself throbbing as she takes me inside herself. Velvet and hot and _wet_.

"_Oh_," she moans, moving on me, "I've missed you, my king."

Her chest is against mine; perfect, soft breasts on me; soft, moving, moving, _moving_. Over-sensitive, moving, _too much_. I need to touch her, need to run my hands over her, through her auburn hair and bury myself into her.

_Let me touch you._

PERSEPHONE

"Let m – me touch you," he stutters, lustful and incoherent and thrusting his hips up into mine with his head leaning on my shoulder. "L-let me feel you."

"Not yet," I whisper into his ear. "I need you to do something for me first." I'm just as breathless as he is. He nods against me, thrusting his hips up and back as I roll mine in circles over him. I can feel the tension in his legs; see his white-knuckled grip on the chair. "Anything," he mutters against my shoulder, "anything, anything, anything. I can't lose you, I can't. I can't."

My breath hitches, and I hold him close. "You're not going to lose me." I kiss his cheek, feel him shudder.

"_Please_," he whimpers, shaking and thrusting. I run my hands through his thick hair, now damp with sweat. "Imagine, _oh gods_, imagine, that you're on your throne." His groan is deep in his chest. "Do you see it, Hades?" He nods, losing his rhythm. "_Please_," he says.

HADES

The throne room, my throne room; huge a luscious and soft and wait – that's her body against mine. Her _tongue_, her caress. In my blood; too hot. _It's too hot_. More.

_I need more. _

"Picture yourself - _oh my love, don't stop_ – picture yourself there. Do you see me, taking you?"

Too much; her touch, her skin. Her scent; _in my blood_. Possessed. No control.

Hot breath in my ear; hot hands on my skin, soft, _everywhere_. "Now," hot breath against my neck, _too much_, "you are . . . King – imagine . . . you, _us_, on your throne, surrounded by marble. Do you see it, my king? Do you see me taking you there?"

PERSEPHONE

"_Yes_," he groans. "_Oh gods, Persephone, please let me touch you_." I close my eyes, and release him from his bonds, and his hands are on me, frantically running up and down my waist and back and in my hair, pulling and grasping and lost. His lips – _his tongue_ – on my neck, cool and hot and _so close_. His hands settle on the tops of my thighs, and his fingers _dig_ in there, holding me to him as we meet thrust for thrust. "I love you," he's saying; a mantra over and over again, and when I reach my peak, bringing him into a searing kiss, I say, "And I you." He comes then, loud and ragged and clinging to me. I can feel his heart beating hard and fast in his chest, his hands keeping me against him. It's a while before either of speak. "Do you want another child so fast?" he whispers against my ear. "I can barely care for this one."

Another child? "You're doing fine." My hand traces the line of his shoulder. "What do you mean by 'another child'?"

_How did we even get Aria?_ In my memories, I know that his station as ruler of the Underworld had affected him physically; it had granted him control over darkness and death, but it had also taken away his ability to make new life. "Hades?"

I can feel him smile against the crook of my neck. "I can have children."

"I think Aria is proof of that," I laugh, and the movement it causes between us makes both of us sigh.

"No," he says, nipping my jaw. "I've figured it out; I've been running it over and over in my mind since you told me you were with child. It was the Underworld – there, I could not sire any form of life, but here . . . " he says, reaching down between us and rubbing his thumb over me, making me grip his shoulders, "Here, in the world above, I _can_." He lazily runs his thumb over me in circles, and I start to feel heat build in my belly again.

My breath hitches and I lean against him. "_You can_?"

His touch gets firmer, and his other hand runs through my hair. "Oh yes." He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls me in for a kiss, running his tongue over mine. He pulls back after a moment, just slightly, so that our lips are still brushing together. "When this war is over," he moves to kiss my jaw, and I gasp when he bites me there, and his voice comes out as growl, "I can give you a whole _treasure trove."_

In a cloud of black smoke, we travel through the ether and reappear on the bed, with him on top of me, still inside, and growing hard again. He puts his hands on my hips, moving down to kiss my clavicle. "Little princes and princesses running around the palace; causing trouble and playing and being children." _The palace_, I think. _I'll never live like a normal mortal again, even if I want to_. He looks down at me, his expression unreadable. "That is, if you want me to." I reach up, putting my hand at the back of his neck, feeling the soft hair that curls there.

"I love you," I tell him, and he shuts his eyes. "When the war is over – " I run my hand over his stubbled jaw, feeling it clench and tighten underneath my touch. _Will the war ever be over? _"When the war is over, I would want nothing more to build a family with you." My eyes start to water. _And Jim will be there too_, I think._ Jim and Aria and their brothers and sisters. _

He gently grabs my wrist, moving to kiss the palm of my hand. "I will save him," he says. I guess I said that last part out loud. He leans down so that our bodies are close again. He supports himself on his forearms, kisses my cheeks. "Don't cry," he whispers. He wipes my tears away with the back of his hand. "I'll get Jim back." He kisses me. "I promised you, didn't I?"

HADES

Her legs wrap around my waist, bringing me deeper and I feel heat spike up my back. "Make love to me," she says, pleading and holding me to her. "Please," she says.

I kiss her lips softly, agreeing to her request. I start to lean back up, but she wraps her hands around my neck, keeping me there. "Stay close to me," she says. "I want to feel you."

PERSEPHONE

He nods, and starts to move, undulating his hips slowly. He rocks in and out, burying his face in my hair. I run my hands over his back, touching the crooks and cuts of lean, deadly muscle. He hums in approval when I rub his scalp; a deep, low rumble in his chest. He keeps rocking into me, slowly and deliberately.

"I love you," I tell him. He shudders. "Do you like this? Do you want me to go faster?"

He hits that spot, that perfect, _perfect_ spot, and I feel my toes curl. I bring him closer to me with my legs. "N-no, keep, _oh Hades_, keep it just like this."

He grunts, and his hips hitch and buck a little bit out of his rhythm, but he keeps it slow. I can feel him breathing at my shoulder, inhaling and exhaling loudly. "You are so beautiful. There are days when I look at you, and I can't believe that you're here; real, alive . . . _moaning_ under my touch." I move my hips up to meet his, and he groans. "Tell me you love me again," he says, breathless against my skin. "_Please_, tell me you love me again."

"I love you." He hits that spot again, and I feel that unmistakable heat and bliss wash over me, and I can feel him start and shudder and pulse in me, and I know he's gone too. We just lie there for a few moments, basking in each other's warmth and protection, and he slowly rolls off of me, pulling me with him so that my head lies on his chest. He kisses the top of my head, and his breathing and heart slow as my eyelids start to feel heavy. _I have to get Aria_, I think. I look up at him, and his eyes are closed. He's asleep, completely dead to the world around him, and he actually looks peaceful. I kiss his chest, using the ether to move out of his arms so I don't wake him. I step into the shower and rinse myself off, and with a wave of my hand I clothe myself.

I head out to where Rhea is staying with Hestia and my mother. Rhea is holding her, and Hestia is looking happy and even my mother has a smile on her face. Rhea looks up, smiles. "She missed you," she says, handing Aria back to me. I shake my head. "I think she missed her father." Rhea laughs, and so does Hestia. My mother doesn't.

"Thank you, Rhea, Hestia," I nod to Demeter, "Mother." She doesn't say anything. _She hates him because he looks like Cronus._

When I step back into the room, I see his chest, clothed, and rising and falling slowly. He looks like he's taken a shower. I feed Aria, change her into a fresh diaper. She starts to cry though, and no matter how much I try to soothe her, she won't calm down. "Shhh, sweet baby – Papa is trying to sleep." No dice. She keeps crying, and it's getting louder, and so I move to get her out of the room before she wakes her dad because this is the first time in a long time that he's slept so soundly. Right as I'm about to turn the door, I feel his hand on my waist, and he turns me. "I didn't want her to wake you," I say, lamely.

He smiles. "I'm awake now, aren't I?" He touches Aria's cheek. "Let me hold her?" I kiss his cheek, feeling the soft stubble against my lips as I place Aria in his arms. She keeps crying, but as he talks to her, she slows down, and shuts her eyes, falling asleep again. "Be still, little one. We're in the belly of the beast; we need to be quiet. Still and strong, my little princess. Strong and still like I know you are." He stays like that, holding her and talking to her until she's totally out, and he limps back over to her crib, setting her down on her back.

He keeps looking at her, but his happy smile starts to shift into a somber frown. "I'll have to speak with Amon again tomorrow," he says.

I walk over to him, touch his shoulder. "I'll be there with you."

We're in this together.

A/N: Well, I hoped ya'll liked this :)


	42. A Man of Honor

Chapter 42: A Man of Honor

JIM

Soft fingers on my back, soft touches on my skin; breathing and warmth and comfort. But, even in my foggy state, even with Venus' hands on me, I just feel sick.

"What troubles you, my hero?"

I shut my eyes, see feathers and scales flying; gold and red blood soaking the white marble walls of the palace.

"_You offered amnesty! You cannot kill me – I am Quetzalcoatl! I am the Feathered Serpent!"_

_ "A dead feathered serpent."_

A sword slash, a short battle, a deep cut in the chest. Turn away, don't look at them. _Heart, ripped out, still beating. _Flying, falling feathers and scales. Screams, tuned out. Blood, gold and red, staining the ground. Dead eyes, looking up at me.

_ Ares. _

_ Zeus._

_ Hera._

_ Quetzalcoatl._

_Don't think about them, Jim Wells. They're dead now. They're the enemy._

_They're dead now, just like Dad and - "_Viola._" _

Sad sigh behind me, tender touch on my neck. "Viola is dead now, James."

"I know."

I sit up, look out the open window. Everything hurts. Nothing feels good, not even Venus. Soft hands on my chest. "Come back to bed, James. You need to sleep." Sleep brings bad memories. Sleep _hurts_. Sleep feels worse when I'm with her.

_ "You still have that purple dragon, sailor?" _

_ "'Course, Vy."_

_ "You won't let me fall, right?"_

_ Legs dangling from the edge of the building, kicking back and forth like we're a couple of kids using swings. Her hand in mine; golden brown skin against pale olive. She'll slip; she'll fall – _

_ She'll die. _

_ "I'll always try to catch you."_

_ "Try?" she'll ask, curious and sad. "You mean you can't save me?"_

_ I won't answer. It's always the same. _

_ Except when it's not. _

_ She falls, slips through my fingers, and He's there – Hades. But, he's sad; not cruel or angry. And he catches her, only for her to wither away in his arms, turn to ash. He won't say anything, because it's not him._

_ He's just an illusion in a dream._

_ A fake lie of a memory. _

Soft hands stop their movement, start again, moving lower. "James?"

_"You are no killer. You are good and kind. You are your mother's son."_

My fist is tight, clenched. _You are no killer. You are good and kind. You are your mother's son. _Words were left hanging, but I know what they were supposed to be. "He should've said them."

"Who should've said what, James?"

"It's nothing." I stand, putting on my shirt. Venus is looking at me. I can't tell if she's sad or upset. I can't fucking tell anything about her anymore. I'm not sure if I ever could. "I'm going to get something to eat," I say to her. She nods, lying on her back. She opens her dress, and my mouth feels dry when I look at her. "When you return," she says, smiling, "I will be here, waiting for you." She runs her hand down her stomach, lower and lower and there's a soft sigh that makes my heart start to pound, but makes my belly roil and feel sick. I nod, walking out as fast as I can. I make my way down the long hallway, running my hands along the smooth marble of the walls, one foot in front of the other.

_"Read to me again, sailor."_

_ "I don't wanna."_

_ She poked me in the stomach. "If you don't read to me, I'll tell everyone that you still play with that stuffed dragon I gave you."_

_ "Fiiiinnne." She smiled, and that made everything okay. _

Walk into the courtyard, where there are statues of gods and goddesses, but I don't see Him, and I feel a weird tug in my chest.

_"Your grip shouldn't be so tight on the sword, Jimbo."_

_ "But what if I drop it?"_

_ A stunned look; stony and hard, and then a big crack of a smile, followed by loud, happy laughter. "Don't drop it."_

_ I rolled my eyes. "Thanks for the help."_

_ He shook his head, smiled. "Think of the sword as being part of your arm. You can't drop your arm. Now, start again."_

There's an empty pedestal, where a statue should be. A name plaque looks like it's been removed, and I know this is His spot; that this is where his statue should be.

_ "So, why did you and Zeus, you know . . . fight?"_

_ The sun was setting, and Folkvarthr was on my lap. He sighed, rubbing his thigh and looking straight out at the water. "I'll tell you that story sometime. When you're older."_

_ "I'm not a baby." _

_ He looked at me, grinned. "To me, you might as well be in diapers."_

_ "That's not fair."_

_ His grin got wider. "Gods don't play fair, Jimbo. But I'll tell you that story sometime, I promise." _

I walk to the Great Hall, where I know Alex will be. He spots me, but he doesn't smile. He's looking sick these days; dark skin turning pale, with rings under his eyes. Even his tattoo looks like it's starting to lose its shape. He's sitting down, talking with Tugg and Lucas.

"Looks like the Little Slugger finally decided to come and join us," says Lucas, winking a gray eye at me.

"Shaddup, Lucas," says Tugg. "Wot ya doin' heyah, Jim? We thoughts you was too's busy gettin' with tha boss lady. Wot, her cunt too dry for ya now, Lil' Slugger?"

"Fuck both of you," I say. I look at Alex. "I want lean, and I know you still have some."

Alex scratches his neck. "Thought you weren't doin' drugs no more, Little Slugger. . ."

"Well I'm starting back up again, so give me some lean before I punch your lights out." Tugg laughs and Lucas shrinks back. Alex just stares and nods before getting up to go mix the lean. A few minutes later, he comes back with a styrofoam cup of the stuff. "You're lucky," he says. "Leaving Olympus to get prescriptions is pretty much impossible now." I take it from him wordlessly and walk back to the courtyard. I go sit down by the empty pedestal, and drink.

_"Too much will kill you, Little Slugger. Don't drink too much."_

Maybe I want to die. I sit back against the marble pedestal, staring at the statue of Zeus across from me. As the minutes pass, I feel my insides start to go numb, and I even start to feel a euphoric tingle make its way up my spine and through my body. I keep staring at Zeus' statue, and my eyelids start to feel heavy. I'll sleep. I just want it to be a dreamless sleep, is all. I just want peace, to be good again.

_"You are good, Jim." _

I shut my eyes, feel myself fall to the grassy ground beneath me, and I keep on falling, through the clouds beneath Olympus, down to the ground of the earth and through _that _too; down through its dark layers of rock, through otherworldly clouds of the Underworld, into a dark pit. I know this fucking place; I've been here before.

_ Tartarus._

PERSEPHONE

"You're sure about this?" he asks me, concern in his eyes. He's holding Aria, and he gives her a kiss on the top of her forehead when he hands her to Rhea.

I take his hand in mine. "Positive, Hades."

He nods, giving me a quick kiss on the lips, and we make the long walk to Amon's makeshift cell in the basement of the resort. The only real things keeping him here are the wards from all the different gods. When we walk in, Amon smiles at us.

"There's my favorite power-couple. Tell me, how's the baby? Did your lovely wife cuckold you again, Your Grace?"

I squeeze his hand when I feel him tense, feel his anger rise. There're two chairs in the corner of the room, and we move them to sit in front of Amon. He grins at Hades. "I see you're not sending her away this time. Don't want to repeat our lovely little session from last time?"

"You didn't seem to think it was too lovely while I was breaking your jaw," my husband says. That image of him; of my husband brutally hurting someone like _that_, makes my stomach churn. He's put on the monotone voice, the apathetic face. It's all an act, and I know that now. Amon's purple eyes move from Hades to me, and gives me an open-mouthed grin, showing his sharp teeth. "And how is the lovely queen? Got your figure back already, I see. I can't say the same thing for _my _mother; when I was born, I practically _ripped_ her open." I can feel him probing at my consciousness, looking for a way in, and I put up walls. I think of my dad and his smoky smell; of Grandma Luci and Rachel and Jim, and little baby Aria and my husband's hand clinging to mine for strength, and I don't let Amon in. His eyes flick down to our entwined fingers and his grin grows wider. "Awww, now guys, that's really beautiful, that really is," he pretends to wipe tears from his eyes, "Such solidarity and love. You guys are so perfect, I could just eat both of you up-"

"Enough, Amon," Hades says, keeping the tone in his voice flat. "Tomorrow at midday, you will be executed for your crimes against humanity, and the old gods."

Amon laughs. "You came all the way down here from your cozy little bed of sunshine and happiness and rainbows, just to tell me _that_?"

"We came here for answers, Amon," I say, exasperated.

"And you think I'll give them to you? That's cute."

"Why this war?" Hades asks, ignoring Amon's comment. "Why kill the old gods? Why do you want to fight the Creator?"

Amon shifts against the wall, and his expression is angry. "You have purpose, don't you, Polydectes?"

"I do," Hades says, uncertain where Amon is going with his question. "I rule the kingdoms of my brothers, now."

"And you used to only rule the Underworld. You were born, swallowed, and made a king when you got out. You've _always_ served a function, but what about **_me_**?" he asks, placing his milky-white hand on his chest. "I was _made_, but I served no _purpose_. You old gods already existed; what rolls would beings like me possibly fill? Why would the Creator make me, only to forget about me? Why **_make_** me, and my brothers and sisters, only to leave us to **_rot_**, while you **_weak_** gods **_fucked _**and **_partied_** and **_"governed"_**? **_Why, dammit?_**"

"He made you because he could." When I say it, Amon's purple eyes return to me.

"You should tell Persephone that wives are meant to be seen and not heard, Hades."

_That_ makes my blood boil. "Listen here, you sexist, sadistic little prick-"

"My wife is my equal," Hades says, cutting me off. He squeezes my hand, trying to calm me down. "Do not insult her again, or I will make good on my threat from our last encounter, and tomorrow you will die as a _eunuch_."

Amon smiles at me, sweetly, and I feel sick when I look at him. "Look at your husband, Your Grace, so ready to defend you. Isn't that sweet? Such a man of _honor_, but even a man of honor has his secrets."

"Hold your tongue, or I'll cut it out," Hades snarls. I wince at his words.

"Ooo, Polydectes, I don't think your wife likes this dark side to you. But what does she expect? You _did_ rule over the dead. You _are_ a god. Did you tell her about how you ripped my jaw open, and took _great pleasure _in doing it?" Amon keeps looking at me.

"Quiet now," Hades growls, and I feel the room grow colder. I squeeze his hand, and that brings him back to me.

"Why, Your Grace? Are you afraid that if your wife learns your true nature, she won't give you any more underfoot brats?"

"Quiet," my husband says, but his voice is weak. He pulls his hand from my grasp, and digs the heels of his palms into his temples. "Hades!" I touch his shoulder, and underneath my hand I feel him trembling. "Get out," he moans. He leans forward, so that his head is between his knees, and I rub his back. "Get out of my _head_."

I look at Amon, hoping that when I glare at him, he sees the steel in my eyes. "_What are you doing to him?_"

Amon's grin grows even wider, to the point where I think his face might split. "Nothing I haven't done already. Come, let me show you your _honorable _and _just_ king in his true light."

* * *

When I first see the beginnings of the memory, everything seems foggy; covered in a thick mist, but as time passes, I see things in more detail, and I realize that I am at Olympus. As the images get sharper, I can't help but feel like I shouldn't be here; that this is private and personal, and that the inner workings of my husband's mind should not be viewed like a museum display, especially not by _me_. The only problem is, I don't know how to get out – yet.

"Good evening, everyone," Zeus bellows from his marble and gold throne, "And welcome to the Winter Solstice meeting of 1919."

1919? "_He had become a complete recluse since the Winter Solstice of 1919. Everyone thought he had given up, but I knew better." _

_This was the last Winter Solstice meeting he attended, _I think. _Why?_

Suddenly, time rushes forward, and I see my husband seated with his brothers at the end of the large dining table in the Great Hall.

"You gave me a _whore_?"

"Calm down, Hades. She's a very sweet girl, one that I'm sure will be to your liking."

"I'm perfectly capable of finding the company of a woman for myself, Zeus."

Zeus laughs, holding his belly. "Yes, Hades, and you're also the King of Olympus. Stop complaining. You have her for the whole night, and she's willing. I know how picky you are about females. You won't have to _force_ her into anything; she'll willingly do it all."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" Hades growls, taking a large drink from his wine goblet.

"Hades," Poseidon says, doing his best to keep his tone calm and gentle. "We all know that you haven't been with a woman since your wife, and that was many, many years ago."

"You know this for a fact, Poseidon? I didn't think that the private dealings of my life were well-known among the ilk of you Olympians."

"It's just who you are, brother. We're not _spying_ on you," Poseidon says, trying to diffuse the tension. Hades just glares at both of his brothers until Zeus groans. "Enough of this foolishness. You will bed this girl, and hopefully get rid of that stick you seem to have lodged in your ass. As your brother, and as your king, I command you to do this."

"Go fuck her for _yourself_,Zeus. I certainly will not."

"She has red hair," Poseidon mutters, taking a sip of wine. That makes Hades stop, turn to look. "She does?"

Poseidon nods. "She is very beautiful. If you keep the lights dim, you could even pretend it's . . . her."

Hades swallows, flexing his fingers and opening and closing his fist. "Fine," he says, almost to himself. _No, Hades, please, _I think."I will do it." _No._ I hear Amon's sick laughter reverberate through the hall.

"Fantastic," Zeus says. "She'll be waiting for you when we're done here."

* * *

The chamber is lit by candles, and even though it's a guest room, the furniture is ornate. The carving on the bedposts and desk is intricate, interweaving between leaf-patterns and battle scenes. The girl is seated at the edge of the large bed, clothed in a long, shear dress that hugs her curves. She's young and beautiful, with rounded cheeks and fiery-red hair. Her skin looks pale and smooth, and her lips look pink and kissable. For a moment, I feel a pang of jealousy, but then I see how scared she looks, and that pang goes away. Her head pops up at the sound of the huge wooden door of the chamber opening. I look at the chamber, and see _him_. He has a chalice of wine in his hand, and he takes a big drink from it, swallowing loudly with each gulp.

The girl falls to the ground, prostrating herself. "Lord Hades," she says in greeting.

"Please, stand up," he says, sighing. He leans against the door as she rises. "What's your name?"

She looks at the floor. "Minthe, milord, if it please you." She won't look him in the eye.

"Minthe," he says, testing the name. He takes another sip of wine from his goblet. "Do you know what you are supposed to do tonight, Minthe?"

"His Grace says I am to pleasure you, milord." Hades laughs, bitterly, and she winces at the sound. "If I do not please you, milord, I can-"

"You please me just fine, Minthe," he says, looking her over. He steps away from the door, doing his best to hide his limp and he closes it. Taking another step, he travels through the ether to the bed, lying down with his back pressed against the large pillows. "My brothers say that it's been too long since I've touched a woman, Minthe – that's why you're here." He stares at her, breathing out loudly through his nose. "Step into the light and remove your dress," he says.

She does, pushing off the sleeves that hang onto her shoulders. She's stark naked in front of him, and he takes another sip of wine. The girl bites her lip, stares down at her hands. "Milord, I'm a virgin – I only ask that you be gentle when you-"

"A _virgin whore_?" he barks, laughing. "That's a first for me. Do not worry yourself; I have no intention of lying with you, girl."

She looks up at him, still avoiding his eyes. I can't tell if she looks offended or . . . what. "But you're a god," she says, wide-eyed.

His brows furrow, and he scratches his beard. "What of it?"

"How am I to . . . pleasure you, if you do not lie with me?" she asks.

"Why do you _want_ to pleasure me?" he shoots back.

She looks down again, her cheeks flushing red. "My sisters are dying – our homeland was damaged during the human war. I went to Olympus to ask for help, and His Grace said that if he could hear your . . . hear your moans of pleasure throughout the palace, he would save my sisters."

"I see."

She nods, staring down at her hands, and twitching with restraint to not cover up her breasts. "Look at me?" he asks, gently.

With some effort, she does, and he smiles at her. "See, was that so bad?"

She shakes her head. "No, milord."

He opens his legs, patting the space between them, and wincing when his thigh spasms. She looks afraid again. "Milord, I thought you said that –"

"I am not going to lie with you, Minthe." He grimaces, rubbing his thigh.

"Then why?"

He sighs. "As much as I am loath to admit it, my brothers are . . . right – I've not touched a woman in many, many years. Not since I was with my wife. I would . . . _like_ to touch _you_, if you would let me."

She swallows, stiffly nods, and I can see the relief on his face. "Lay your back against my chest . . . Yes just like that. Are you comfortable?"

"Yes, milord." Clearly she's not, covering her belly with her hands and flexing her toes.

He breathes in the scent of her hair, and he makes that low rumble in his chest that I know so well. "Milord?" the girl asks, trying not to shift away from him in her discomfort.

"They even made you smell like her. . ." he says, his words coming out husky and garbled against her hair. "Zeus is cruel."

"Smell like who, milord?"

"Don't talk," he says, kissing the back of her neck and running his hands down her forearms. "Don't talk . . ."

She swallows, shifting back against him. He gradually manages to pull her arms from covering her belly, and he rubs his hands down the smooth plane of her stomach. She sighs, and he breathes in the scent of her hair again. "Do you like this? Don't talk – just shake your head yes or no."

After a moment more of his ministrations, she nods. "Most humans do not keep the old ways. You are not human, are you?"

"N-No, milord," she sighs as breathes against her neck. His breath must be cool. The thought of it makes me shiver. "My sisters and I are nymphs."

He smiles against her neck. "Don't talk," he whispers. She looks like she's about to say something again – maybe apologize – but she manages to stop herself. He moves his hand lower, to the thatch of red curls, and he kisses the shell of her ear. "Would you mind if I touched you here?" Her breath hitches. She shakes her head, and he moves his hand lower, and the jealousy strikes me again. Amon's voice slithers into my mind. _Looks like your honorable king wasn't so honorable after all, huh, Your Grace?_

He shuts his eyes when she moans, leaning his head against hers. He keeps his other hand on her belly, slowly moves it up to her breasts and he touches her there, too. She moves against him, overstimulated, and trying to jerk away and he groans. "Don't move," he grunts through his teeth, placing both of his hands on her hips and keeping her there. "Milord?" she asks, breaking her silence.

His eyes are screwed shut. "Don't talk." After a few moments, his hands release her hips and move back to where they were before. He strokes her again, and even though I can tell she's trying her hardest not to move, she can't stop herself. And, before he can restrain her, she turns in his arms, faces him. I step closer, and I can see his Adam's apple bob up and down. She leans in, placing her hands on his chest. "Would milord like to take his pleasure now?" He's completely frozen, and I feel my breath hitch in my chest. _Don't, Hades. Please, _I think. _Please, don't._ But I know how ridiculous it is for me to ask for this; I was gone – _dead_ – for thousands of years. I won't let this bother me. _I won't_. 

Amon's laughter in loud and manic when he hears my thoughts. _Sure you won't, Persephone. Sure you won't._

She leans in, kissing him lightly on the lips, and his mouth opens slightly. She kisses him again, harder this time, and her hand trails down from his chest to his groin and she strokes him through his robes. He kisses her back, growling at her touch, and he pulls roughly on her hair. She whispers something I can't hear into his ear.

"You're no virgin," he snarls, biting her neck. "You nymphs never are." She tilts her head up, exposing more of her neck, sighing in pleasure. "No, milord, I'm not."

He pulls her hair back farther, so that her neck bends back painfully and she yelps. "_Why did you lie to me?_" he asks, teeth bared and voice sharp like steel. He pulls on her hair again, and she bites back a cry. "_Answer me, girl._"

Tears are starting to form at the edges of her eyes, and her hands are twisting and grabbing at the folds of his robes. "H- His G-Grace said that you preferred virgins. He couldn't find any w-w-willing to c-c-couple with you, and I needed his help. He told me to act like I was, to pleasure you. Please, don't hurt me, milord. I- I'm sorry."

His eyes are cold when he looks at her. Winter ice, frozen and soulless. "I could fuck you," he says, pulling on her hair, eliciting another cry of pain from her. "Fuck you mercilessly and bloody, till you're sore and bow-legged, and afterwards, kill you, and none of it would make a difference to my brother, do you understand?"

She starts to cry now, _really cry_, and my stomach is starting to churn. "You w-w-wouldn't do that," she says, tears spilling from her eyes.

"Oh?" he asks, tilting her head so that his mouth is at the edge of her chin. "And why is that?"

"Because," cries, "you are just."

He brings her head back up, so that their foreheads are touching. "So I'm 'just' now?"

She brings her hands up to the sides of his face, nods. "A man of honor."

He growls again, brings her in for a kiss, hard and wet and passionate, and I see his hands move to cling to her hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. After about a minute, his hands move back up to her face, and he pushes her from him. "Get out," he breathes. She looks at him, confused. "Milord?"

He snaps his fingers, and she reappears by the door, fully clothed. "Get out," he says again, turning to lie on his side, facing his back towards her.

"But, milord, I . . . haven't . . . brought you pleasure."

He groans. "Are you deaf, girl? I told you to _leave_, and yet you _stay_. I've had too much to drink, my leg hurts and my head pounds. Your _leaving me alone_ would bring me pleasure."

The girl bites her lip. She looks scared. "But, milord, what about. . ."

"Are you still here?" Hades snaps. "What about _what_?"

"His Grace?"

Hades laughs. It's a bitter sound, and not at all like the laughter have I heard from him when Aria smiles at him. "You can tell him I had my way with _Hera_, for all I fucking care about _His Grace_. Now, leave me be."

"Yes, milord." She walks out, closing the door behind her, and when she's gone, I hear him let out a harsh breath. He reaches out to the pillow across from him, and I can see the emptiness – the loneliness – etched on his face. "I am the architect of my own fate," he whispers. He shuts his eyes, lies on his back, and reaches his hand down to his groin. "I'm sorry," he breathes. He bites back a hiss as he rubs his palm over himself. "I'm sorry, Persephone. It's just . . . I miss you." His robes burn off of his body in black flames; he wraps his hand around himself, squeezes hard, and makes a guttural sound at the back of his throat.

I shouldn't be watching this. I shouldn't have watched _any_ of it. These are _his_ memories; this is _his_ mind, and I have _no_ right to be here. This is too personal, too much.

_Amon, stop. _

No answer except for his dark laughter, as Hades pumps his hand over himself, fast and hard and desperately. When he's done, he looks up, breathless, and I feel like he's searching for something. "I'll find you," he says, "I will." The scene changes, and it looks like it's the next morning. Sitting down at his Zeus' left, he and the rest of the gods eat.

"So, brother, did you have a good time last night?" Poseidon asks, waggling his red eyebrows. He's sitting across from him.

"Good enough," Hades says, completely monotone.

"That's not what the nymph told me," Zeus says, taking a drink of nectar. "She said you wouldn't bed her."

"Does it matter?" Hades asks, clenching his fist.

"You need to marry," Zeus says.

"I _am_ married."

Poseidon looks at him with sympathy. "Your wife is dead, brother."

"And Demeter isn't going to bring her back," Zeus finishes, taking another sip of nectar.

Hades shakes his head, chuckling in that bitter way again. "So, what, you'll have me marry a _nymph_, is that it? You'll approve of that, but you won't approve of me trying to marry a human."

"Not this again," Zeus says, setting his goblet down. He looks at Hades. "I'm sorry, Hades. Does that make you feel better? I was wrong. That _woman_ has been dead longer than your own _wife_, get over it already."

"_Get over it?_"

"She was my daughter," Zeus continues, ignoring him, "You're not the only one who lost her."

Hades looks down at his hands, and Zeus leans back in his seat. "Besides," he says, "I didn't want you to marry the _nymph_, I just wanted you to see what you were missing out on, since I know you drive yourself into completely celibacy whenever you lose a woman-"

"Unlike you, Zeus, I can control myself."

_You try to, Hades. _"Anyways, it doesn't matter now," Zeus grunts, waving his hand dismissively at Hades. "I sent the girl back to her sisters - "

"You should've helped her," Hades says, glaring at Zeus.

"And you should've bedded her. Besides, I _did_ help her – she's a plant now. Mint, for her namesake. She won't have to deal with satyrs and repressed, horny gods like you ever again, Hades."

"You turned her into a _plant_?" Hades seethes, standing.

"Brother, please," Poseidon says, pleading, "sit back down. Let's finish our breakfast."

"She did nothing wrong," Hades says, clenching his fists.

"She _failed_ me," Zeus replies, taking another drink. "That's what she did wrong. Stop making a scene."

All the gods are looking at them now, and Hades swallows. He shakes his head, picking up his helm and making his staff appear in his hand. "Don't save me a room for the next Winter Solstice. I won't be coming back."

"Brother?" Poseidon asks.

Zeus shrugs. "Fine, Hades – go crawl back into that dank hole you call a kingdom."

Colors swirl in front of my eyes, and I see him, in a fit of rage, with no limp or scar on his face. He's clutching his side, and I remember the burning mark from all those years ago.

_You see?_ Amon laughs. _Your husband has madness in him._

_ That was long ago, _I say.

And instead of seeing my husband's memories, I see _inside_ his mind – I see a desert, and a forest, and an ocean at the end of the sand dunes. At the edge of the horizon, storm clouds brew, and as I walk closer to them, the white sand becomes more and more covered with the black substance of his curse. _It's still here_.

_This is too personal_, I think. _I shouldn't be inside his mind._

_I'm not supposed to be here. _

I keep walking, taking care to step over the black and sticky substance that puddles everywhere on the ground. When the puddles grow darker, and more numerous, leading up towards the top of rock, I crane my upwards. On it sits Amon.

"He keeps his good memories blocked from me," Amon says, grinning at me, and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "Though, I _did_ catch a small glimpse of your _precious_ little girl-"

His voice makes my skin crawl. "How did you get in here?"

"Little by little," Amon says. "I worked on it."

"I want you to leave."

"_Me_? I'm not the only problem your husband has," he says, pointing to the black substance on the ground. Then, I hear _it_: a grunting, wheezing sound, and I turn around to see a deformed figure writhing on the ground. It has black hair, like him, but it has one black-colored eye, and one blue, and its mouth is twisted and misshapen. "That _thing_ makes my conscious looks like a piece of beauty."

Suddenly, Amon is in front of me, touching my shoulder. His fingers feel like ice. "You see, Persephone, a mind is a terrible thing to lose. And he almost did, delirious and in _delicious_ pain, all those thousands of years ago, when you left him. I gotta say, whenever I look at that memory, I feel myself get all tingly down there."

"You're a sadistic pig."

"Oh, what a_ burn_, Persephone." I push him away from me, and he falls onto his ass, but all that does is make him laugh. His purple eyes are shining when he looks back up at me. "I'm _so_ much more than that. Did he tell you about me? I'm sure he did. Did he tell you about seeing himself, raping you? Did he tell about you _that_? When I saw _that_ memory, I just about came in my pants." He grins at me, and I feel like I want to throw up. He nods to the thing writhing on the ground. "You can bet if that _thing _ever gets its strength again, it won't be just a nightmare that haunts your 'honorable man', it'll be the real thing."

I look at the thing on the ground, twisting and groaning and deformed, and I make my decision. "Well, I guess I'll have to kill it, then." Amon's mouth drops. "What? You – you _can't_ do that! **_Hades_** couldn't even do it!"

_Amon has no power over me here, _I tell myself._ If he did, he would've already hurt me._ _I will not be afraid of him. _

I kneel down next to the creature, and I see its black eye look up at me. It screams, and it sounds nothing like my husband. I touch its sickly pale skin, and it tries to crawl away, but it can't. Its muscles are corded and thick and ugly, and I'm reminded of the time I had to read _Beowulf_ in high school. _He looks like Grendel_, I think. _Not a giant, but twisted and strong. _

I feel power rush out from my fingertips, and I hear Amon behind me, panicking. "If you kill that _thing_, you'll – you'll destroy a part of _him_. You'll _hurt_ Hades!"

That stops me, but then I remember a conversation I had with my dad, back when I was around five or six.

"_Papa, why does your friend Brandon have no arm?"_

_ A sigh. He sat me on his lap. "Because, my little jellybean, he got a bad… cut on his arm, during the war. It got infected with bad stuff. The doctors had to get rid of it."_

_ "Get rid of it, Papa?" His eyes got that faraway look._

_ "Cut it off," he said, moving me off of his lap._

_ "Ewww." He smiled, but it was sad. "C'mon, my little jellybean, let's go watch your favorite mouse. What's his name again?"_

_ "Fievel, Papa."_

_ "Fiver? Fiver the Mouse?"_

_ "Fievel!" _

Cutting off an infection. That's what I'm doing. I touch the creature again, and it screeches, the sound piercing my ears.

"Peace, Hades," I say, keeping my hand on the withering and writhing beast. "I'm going to give you peace."

"**_You'll ruin him!_**" Amon screams, right into my ear, and shit – that _hurts_. _Amon has no power over me here, _I tell myself. _ I will not be afraid of him. _

As I run my hand over the creature's skin, its screaming grows louder, and it looks at me. _This isn't Hades. This is an infection._ The more I rub my hands over it, the more the creature wails, until, suddenly, it shuts its eyes, and its breathing slows, and it starts to crumble into dust and ash. A soft wind blows in the air, and the ashes fly out to the sea. A wave washes over the shore, wiping the black substance clean from the sand, and when I look out to the ocean, the storm clouds are no longer gathering.

"**_You fucking bitch!_**" Amon screams. "**_You fucking ruined him, you fucking whore!_**"

I look at Amon, seething and cheeks burning red, with wild black hair and manic purple eyes, and I reach out to him, grab his wrist. "I want you gone from here, too." He explodes in a flash of light, screaming as his body burns away from the white heat, and then he is gone from this private place. Forever. When I look down at the sand again, it is almost pure white, and the water that splashes on its shores is blue and green; clear and beautiful.

The sun is low on the horizon, leaving streaks of pink and orange in the sky, and I spot him lying down on his back, sleeping.

His breathing is soft, and his face is calm. Here, in the deepest part of his mind, he is finally at peace. I touch his chest, and the sun grows brighter. "Rest, my love," I say, kissing his cheek. "You are finally free." When I breathe, I can smell the scent of happy memories, and as I look at the calm ocean in front of me, and the green forest behind me, I see the physical manifestations of a healthy mind. I see shadows of Jim and I, laughing and joking, and a shadow of Aria in his arms. I see shadows of Poseidon, swimming in the ocean and winking playfully, and Hestia and Thanatos and Hecate and these are the people that occupy his mind now, even at its deepest level; family and friends. I shut my eyes, willing myself to leave this private place, and when I do, coming back to the physical world of Amon's cell, my husband is looking at me.

His eyes are wide, and his breathing is coming out in loud puffs. I'm holding him up by his shoulders, and my arms are starting to burn from the stain. "Are you alright, Hades?"

He nods slowly, blinking. "What did you do?"

I kiss him lightly on the lips. "I'll explain it later."

I look at Amon, and when I see the utter hatred on his face, I feel a grim sort of satisfaction. "You've lost," I tell him, and he gives me a vicious smile. I help my husband stand, because he seems unsteady on his feet. I keep my hand on his stomach and back, feel his warmth against me. The whole time, I keep my gaze on Amon. "Make your peace with the Creator, because after midday tomorrow, nothing will be left of you."

He smiles that sick, smug smile of his. "It was nice talking to you, Your Grace."

I shake my head, helping Hades walk out of the room, and when we're far enough away from the cell to travel through the ether without all the new wards blocking us, we travel to our room. He's leaning against me, getting heavier and heavier. "How are you feeling?" I ask him.

"Tired," he says, his voice sleepy. "What did you do back there, Persephone? I've never felt so . . . relaxed before." I lay him down the bed and there's a knock on the door. When I open it, I'm surprised to see my mother there, with Aria in her arms. When she sees Hades, completely asleep and dead to the world around him, she snorts. "I swear, that man sleeps more than your baby."

She hands me Aria, and I walk over to the bed, lying next to him. "He's making up for lost time," I say, looking at my mother, who's still standing at the door. Her still being here worries me. "Has it started?" I ask.

She nods, grimly. "It is only a matter of time until the battle comes here, my child. Have you and His Grace picked out a family that is suitable, if we . . . do not come out victorious?"

"Yes," I say, nodding. I hold my little girl tighter. She walks over to me, kisses the top of my head. "I love you, child, and I love my grandchild. I will do anything to keep you safe."

I look up at her, do my best to smile. Maybe when the war is over, we can fix the things we need to fix. _The war will be over soon, one way or the other. _"I know, Mom."

She smiles, tears in her eyes, and she gives me another kiss on the top of my head, and Aria a kiss on the cheek. "Prepare yourself," she says, walking out the door. "For the first time in a long time, we have drawn first blood."

I shut my eyes, think of Jim. _Please be okay, Jim._

_ Please. _

JIM

I land onto the ground, softly and gently. It's pitch-black here, and it's freezing cold at the bottom. If I could see in front of me, my breath would come out in puffs of white smoke. I need light. I start to snap my fingers –

"There's no need for that." I fucking recognize that voice.

"Hades." He chuckles, wheezing and sounding old. "No. No, I'm afraid not." Before I know it, the space around us illuminates, and I can see him. The light is low, but it works. I look at the guy, and yeah – he isn't Hades, but he sure as hell looks a lot like him. He's older, though, with deeper wrinkles. I can see lines of silver run through his hair, too; hair that would otherwise be inky black, just like Hades'. His beard has silver in it too, and it's longer – a lot longer, dropping past his jaw and chin. But I see Hades in him; in the way his eyebrows come together, in the curve of his jaw and the shape of his nose. But, when I look at his eyes, expecting to see the blue of winter ice, all I see is gold.

_Ares._

_ Zeus._

_ Hera._

_ Don't think about them. Thinking about them will make you break. _

He doesn't smile at me, just bores his gold eyes into me, seeming like the harder he looks at me, he'll be able to pull all my thoughts out. I swallow; feel my hands shaking at my sides. Shut up.

"I remember you," he says, sitting down at on a large slab of rock. His robes look dirty, but he doesn't smell. At least, not from this far away. "Your Aidoneus' boy." Who?

He stretches, lying down on his back. "You were quite irritating when we last spoke."

And then I remember, all those months ago. "You're Cronus," I say. His words come back to me:

"_Oh Hades, you think that you're powerful? A lame god, in the upperworld looking for a lover long gone. How pathetic."_  
He doesn't sound so . . . evil, now. He doesn't sound like a great guy, either, but the hard edge – the malice that I remember – he doesn't have that anymore.

He nods, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Why am I here?" I ask. He looks up at me, cocks his head to the side in a way that reminds me _way_ too much of Hades. "I'm sure I don't know. You're not dead, clearly. Guilt, perhaps?"

_Ares._

_ Zeus._

_ Hera._

_ Don't think about them._

_ Quetzalcoatl. _

_ Don't think about them or you'll break, and you'll be broken and soiled on top of everything else. You're not good. Hades lied to you; that's all he's ever done. Think about them and you'll break. _

I swallow again, sitting down on the dusty earth beneath me. I wrap my arms around myself. "Jesus Christ, it's fucking cold down here."

Cronus laughs, wheezing and sounding like a very old man, even though he looks like he's only in his sixties. "Cold? Yes. Yes, it is quite cold down here, but after being stuck down here for a few thousand years, you get used to the cold." He sits up, leaning against the hard wall of rock and ice behind him. He looks at me. "You get used to the way the cold burns through your flesh and _aches_ in your bones. The way it freezes your tears when you've deigned to let yourself weep at the fact that you've lost _everything;_ that you will never feel a woman's touch again, or see the light of the sky. Yes, it is _quite_ cold here; cold enough to make a man think on his sins, and after a few thousand years, cold enough to make even a _god_ think on his sins."

My body is shaking, trying to keep itself warm. It's so cold, it _burns_. Cronus coughs, leans his head back against the wall after a particularly phlegmy one. "_Gods above_, the war must be taking its toll on the humans. I've never felt so weak." His gold eyes flick back to me. "So, you're still here. And that is quite curious – Aidoneus isn't here with you –"

I kick my feet out in front of me. Curling up into a ball doesn't do shit for the cold, and my knees are starting to bother me. "Who is Aidoneus?"

He laughs again, coughing and the sound makes me cringe. "Who indeed. My _son_, boy. . . The. . . only one I have left, now."

"Hades, you mean."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose that's how most people know him." He doesn't look sad, not really. Resigned, maybe. In this low light, it's hard to tell. He laughs again, and this time, it's a little fucking crazed. "It's rather funny – when I finally managed to get my senses back after millions of years, I see my oldest son almost die, and then I learn that my other sons and youngest daughter have been killed. I suppose it is the Creator punishing me . . . " He coughs again, looks me in the eyes. "But, you're not here to talk about me."

I look at my hands; see red and gold bloodstains there. "I don't know why I'm here."

This time, I can feel his smile, and I can feel his eyes boring into the top of my head. "You _are_ guilty," he breathes. "You brought yourself here."

"I'm a murderer."

The words hang heavy in the air and Cronus shifts against the wall. "You don't have the smell about you," he says. "But all the same, your guilt brought you here."

"I killed Ares." My words are mechanic and machine-like. He doesn't shift this time. "And I killed a human man, back in D.C. I didn't want to, but I had orders – I had to get the President. He . . . wouldn't let me go, even when I . . . _pushed_ him away. He just kept fucking getting up. I . . . pushed him away, _hard_, and he fell back, right on his head. Brains splattered on the concrete. I could feel his soul leaving his body." My hands are shaking, and it's not from the cold. "I . . . watched Zeus get killed. Watched Dagon and the others grab him . . . slice him from balls to clavicle and tear his beating heart out; watched . . . Hera get beaten, and watched Dagon as he carried her back to his room to do whatever he wanted to do with her. And then, when . . . Quetzalcoatl came – came to, _to fucking surrender_ - I . . . sliced the tendons at the back of his knees; watched him fall in front of Venus, watched him . . . beg for the good of the people on the planet; watched him . . . beg for his life," I look up at Cronus, and he's staring at me, "and I watched as his chest was ripped open and his heart was torn out." _Heart, ripped out, still beating. Flying, falling feathers and scales._ When I exhale, it's ragged and weak and the cold turns it into mist in front of my face.

"Do you know what my son does to murderers?" Cronus asks.

"He sends them here." I shut my eyes; remember the hands and the voices from that night in the hospital, so long ago now. _Murderer, Murderer, Murderer, Murderer._ _Going to Tartarus for your bad deeds. Murderer, Murderer, Murderer._

Cronus nods. "But he didn't send you here. Not now, at least. You came here yourself." I look down at my hands, and his voice becomes a low whisper, "You're remorseful."

"How does it even fucking matter if I'm _remorseful_?" I clench my shaking fists and the nails dig deep into my skin until I can feel a warm trickle leaking from the palms of my hands.

"It doesn't," Cronus says, matter-of-factly. "But that's why you're here now. And here, all there is, is you and time, and _time_, well," he smiles, "it's here in _quite_ an abundance."

My chest gets that weird tugging feeling when he smiles, and it's not warm or happy, but he looks like Hades. Hades, and the proud smile he would have on his face when I did something really great. A smile that reminded me of my old man, back when I was small. _It was all a lie. You hate him, remember? He killed your dad. He killed Viola. You hate him. _

_ "You can hate me, Jim, but I will never hate you." _

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything, boy."

"No, not you." I shut my eyes, see blue ones looking back at me in sadness and another emotion that I know I'm just imagining. "Memories."

Cronus sighs, wheezing and scratching his beard. "Tartarus makes all the memories hurt."

The cold is in my bones. I can fucking_ feel_ it there; burning and aching and everything _hurts_. "Are you sure I'm not fucking dead?" I ask him.

"Positive," Cronus breathes, sounding even older. "Aidoneus wouldn't even send you here if you were."

I think about that for a moment. "Why?" I ask Cronus. "Why wouldn't he send me here?"

He coughs again, and the sound is fucking horrible. "It's not my place to say." But he's fucking said it already:

_ "Your Aidoneus' boy."_

My jaw feels tight, and the ends of my toes are freezing. "Why is it so fucking _cold_ here? Shouldn't it be all fire and brimstone?" _And heat_, I think. _Heat and burning. _When I sniff, I can smell sulfur and other noxious gasses, so why is it so cold here?

"The cold makes you think," Cronus says again. He pulls a lock of dirty hair back from his face, and for all his seeming-frailty, his hands look strong. Strong like they could rip you fucking limb from limb without any effort at all. He looks at me, and all I see is Hades there; hate and fear and confusion churn low in my gut, and I have to look away.

"I'm not 'Aidoneus' boy'," I tell him. Cronus clears his throat, and I can feel his gold eyes on me. "What do you know of my son, boy?"

"He's a liar – "

"Everybody lies."

I glare at him, and there's a smug smile on his face. _Hades, I hate you. _"Why are you defending him?"

Cronus laughs, and it's not as weak-sounding as before. "He is my son."

"He put you here to suffer for eternity."

"He is my son," Cronus repeats. My jaw is so tight it hurts. Cronus shifts again, leaning his head back against the wall of ice behind him. His neck is exposed, and I can see his pulse beating through the thick hair of his beard. He sighs, sounding again like an old man. "Let me tell you about my son, boy. You seem more confused than what I was told."

"Do I have a fucking choice?" Cronus was right; you get used to the cold. If you don't move, you start to feel numb; if you let yourself turn to ice, the ice in the air doesn't hurt as much.

"My son," he says, ignoring my question, "my first son was born in secret, like my other children. I don't blame Rhea for doing that; for trying to hide them. She _wanted_ children, and I was too paranoid and cowardly to keep from fearing the shadows of adults they were casting as babes in her belly, yet to even be born. Madness struck me even before the prophecy. For however many years I might've been a "good" king – it's been so long now that I can't even remember if I ever _was_ – I was a _terrible_ king. And so, when I was told that one of my children would usurp me – "

"That's interesting and all, man, but I don't fucking care. Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm telling you this, _boy_, because you're obviously too much of a fool to see who's true and good, and who's seeking to manipulate you."

"Why should I fucking trust _you_? You swallowed your own damn children!"

Cronus smiles, flashing dirty teeth. "Aye, that I did, boy."

Stand, fists clenched, shaking in anger. "I'm not a fucking _boy_!"

"Everyone is a boy or girl to me, especially the son of my son."

I'm at his throat, suddenly; fingers wrapped around his thick neck, and this close, I can _smell_ him. Dirt and ash and death, and the musky scent of _time._ "**_Hades isn't my father_**."

_"You got us Yankees tickets?!"_

_ "Is that a bad thing?"_

_ "Hell no, man! It's awesome!" Even living in New York all my life, I'd never actually been to a Yankees game. We'd always been too poor; it just was a luxury and expense my mom couldn't afford. He gave me my ticket, I wanted to hug him then, but I didn't, and he didn't hug me. Instead, he just put his hand on my shoulder, squeezed it. "Get ready. The game starts in an hour." It was October 12, game five in the Division Series against Baltimore. It was one of the happiest days of my life. _

"Not by blood," Cronus says, and I can smell his foul breath. "But he is your father." My fingers are fucking shaking. Shaking and trembling, and each time I swallow the huge rock in my throat, I can hear it. "Would you let me go? I'm a frail old man, after all."

I blink, and despite everything, I let him go and sit down. I shut my eyes, remembering how _He _would look at my mom, and how she would look at him – and how could that only just be lust in His eyes? How? I shake my head, because the fog I usually feel, and the gray I usually see, is starting to filter out, and my senses hurt. "Tell me more," I hear myself say.

He laughs, chuckling and wheezing and throwing his head back against the wall. "As you wish, little prince."

"Prince?"

He ignores me again, tells me _everything_ he knows. Once, when Hades was young, there was a woman – a _human_ woman – and he loved her, and that much I know from Hades himself. He was going to marry her, Cronus tells me, but Zeus thought that marriage between humans and gods would be an abomination. "He would fuck them, give them bastards, but he would not think to _marry_ them," Cronus says, bitterly. When Zeus found out about Hades' intentions, he killed the woman, and Hades went to war with his brother, with the intention of taking Zeus' throne.

"Hades wanted power," I say.

"No," Cronus says, "he wanted revenge. He did not succeed, and he was banished from Olympus."

Years passed, Cronus tells me; _years_ passed, and Cronus rotted in Tartarus, sliced up into different pieces, until he came up with a desperate plan to get out: pull Hades into madness. "You gave Hades that burn scar," I say, realization hitting me. _Holy fuck._

"Aye," Cronus says. "And his brother did the rest."

"So my mother died, giving her life to save _his_? W- Why would she do that? He took her – fucking _kidnapped_ her! He . . . _raped_ her."

"Aye, he did take her, I remember that very clearly. I also remember _very_ clearly that he did not rape her."

"Bullshit, you're lying."

He grins. "We believe what we want to believe, prince. That does not change the fact that what I say is true."

"Think about it," he continues, "You're asking the right questions: _why_ would she do that? You know the answer."

"She loved him." I don't know what to believe anymore. My mind isn't foggy, and everything feels and looks sharp and it _hurts_.

_Everything hurt_s.

"She did," Cronus breathes. Why would she love him? Why, unless everything about him _was_ genuine? Maybe he lied, but . . . No, why would _Alex _lie to me? I can't – _I don't know_.

"I feel lost," I say. _I'm supposed to hate Hades. _

From the corner of my eye, I can see Cronus nod. "He knows."

"I don't know what to believe."

He grins again, and I can see a weird sort of kindness there – unpracticed and rusty and foreign on his face, and I imagine Hades' genuine smile there instead, one he reserved for my mom – or even me –and I felt like I did when I was small and my dad was there for me. And he could never replace my real dad, no matter how much I hated the guy; but _He_ was there, and he was a _Dad_.

_ "You are good, Jim."_

"Believe what you know is true."

When I close and open my eyes again, and I look up, the world is on fire. I'm back in Olympus, and the world is scorching. _James_, a voice says in my mind. I look down at the heavy weight on my chest, see gray fur and gray eyes looking up at me. "Folkvarthr?" _Typhon is here; you must follow me. _

_I'm supposed to hate Hades. _

_ He killed my father, didn't he? _

_ . . . Didn't he?_

The ground beneath me shakes, and Folkvarthr keeps looking at me, and the rage I thought I'd experience when I saw him again doesn't come. _I feel lost. Soiled._

_ James, _he says again. _You must follow me. _

There are screams and shouts and there's an unearthly sound so loud I think one of my eardrums breaks. _Now, James._ _If you stay here, you'll die. _

_ Now, James!_

* * *

A/N: I hoped ya'll liked this, guys. Please leave me your thoughts – we're getting closer to the end! :D


	43. Flesh and Bone

A/N: This is the final chapter guys. This is the end. It's long, it's bloody. I hope it satisfies you. It's been a journey to write this story, as cliché as it sounds, just like its predecessor. One day, I may come back and re-write it; tweak my mistakes, and the last story as well, but for now, this is it. I don't think I'll be writing fanfiction much after this – I think I'll try to write more original fiction. I may get a fictionpress account, but only until I have a complete story that I can post in its entirety – which won't be for a while. Your support, guys – _your_ support, gave me the motivation to finish this. I wasn't really much of a writer before last year – drawing was my creative outlet – but writing, finally getting the courage to write something, has allowed me to express my creativity in a way that drawing never has, and it is in some ways even more relaxing. Writing this story (and its predecessor) has allowed me to work through some very tough times in my life, giving me a cathartic release that I could have never achieved in drawing.

As I'm sure you know by now, this story was just as much a romance, as it was a story about family – particularly fathers and their children. It didn't have to be; it could've been something entirely different, but that's the story I wanted to tell, and I hope you've enjoyed it. So, once again, I'd like to thank you for all your support, your encouragement, and your readership. You guys are awesome, and I hope this chapter knocks your socks off. And if it doesn't, know I tried :) Anyways, that's enough of me talking – on to the end.

* * *

Chapter 43: Flesh and Bone

JIM

There's screaming and shouting, and the ground beneath me shakes. Folkvarthr is running in front of me, leading me like he did in the apartment fire. I don't why I'm following him – why the _fuck_ am I following him? I have my sword, scabbard hooked to my belt. Why am I _running_?

_I'm supposed to hate Hades. _

A wall in front of us explodes, and I see a gigantic hand, in the form of storming black winds, tear it further apart.

Somewhere, the voice of a scared shitless kid screams, "_What the fuck is __**that**_?"

Oh wait – that scared shitless kid is _me_. _Typhon,_ Folkvarthr answers in my mind. _Quickly, this way. _

My heart's pounding, feeling like it's gonna burst right through my chest and I know my palms are sweating something awful. _Why am I following him?_

_ I'm supposed to __**hate**__ Hades._

There's smoke in the air, sharp and burning and this is what hell should be like; burning flesh and agony, should be **_all_** you smell and hear, and the searing pain of fire should be all you should **_feel_**. _I'm a murderer. Soiled._

_ "You are good, Jim." _

I think maybe that Cronus was wrong – that maybe I _am_ dead, and that _this_ is Tartarus. But I know that's not true, and even as walls are crumbling around me, and the stars over me are being covered in black clouds, I keep running._ I'm a coward and a murderer._ Folkvarthr jumps over a fire, and I follow him, scorching the bottom of my shoes, and he leads me into the Great Hall, where I see Lucas and Tugg, tearing at each other. Their mouths are foaming, and they're biting and scratching at each other, until they both collapse, dead and twitching. The palace shakes again, and the marble floor beneath me cracks. I almost fall, but I manage to keep my balance. I don't know what's happening. _I don't know, I don't know. _

_ I need help. _

_ Keep calm, _Folkvarthr hisses. _This way._

The world around me shakes, and behind me there's a loud crashing sound, and a scream of hissing wind. Keep running, keep running, keeping running. Don't fucking **_stop_**. Burning flesh, screams –

_Ares._

_ Zeus._

_ Hera._

_ Quetzalcoatl. _

I keep running; sprinting and doing my best to avoid falling stones and timber and _fire_. The cold makes you think; the fire only _burns_.

"Jim!" I hear Alex scream. I turn my head to the sound of his voice, pained and dying. Venus has her hand on his shoulder, and her son is to her left, protecting her. That's when I notice she's got her **_fingernails_** in Alex's **_neck_**. I look at him, and he seems like he's just a kid. He's scared, and blood is pouring from his mouth. I can see something in his eyes: an apology, maybe – but an apology for **_what_**?

"**_Run, Jim!_**" he screams.

"Silence," Venus yells, digging her nails in deeper, deeper and deeper until he falls, dead – he's _so_ fucking dead – to the ground. I feel his soul leave his body, even as ground beneath me cracks and moans and **_splits_**.

**_Why_**_, Venus? _

_ She gave him his power, _Folkvarthr answers in my head. _She wants it back. _

Venus is looking at me, and I see Viola's face there, but underneath, I see something else – something _evil_ – and my chest hurts. "Defend me, my hero," she says, making her tone sound soothing, but all I _feel_ is **_sick_**. "Save me," she says, and her voice is a corruption of Viola's.

The screams of wind and ice and _storm _rip through the hall as more walls collapse, and I see flaming eyes burn through the roof overhead. _"__**OLYMPUS!**__" _the wind screams, all around, and when the walls of the palace finally turn to rubble at the sound, I see the monster in its entirety. "**_YOU ARE FINISHED!"_**

There's fire all around me; fire from the eyes of the black, swirling monster of tornados and flame and ice. _God's wrath._

_No_, Folkvarthr says. _Typhon's wrath_.

"_Save me!_" Venus screams, and her son has an arrow pointed at me. I see Alex at her feet, and I'm shaking my head. I can't save her.

I _won't_ save her.

_I'm supposed to hate __**Hades**__._

_ Boy, murderer – coward. Soiled. _

_ "You are good, Jim." _

"No," I say, backing away from her. I'm burning. My skin is being torn apart by the wind, wind shaped like hands and reaching for us. "**_Shoot him, Eros!_**" she screams, and I can barely hear her voice over the screeching wind.

"_But Mother_," Eros screams, "_he's already tied to the girl. It won't work-_"

"**_Shoot him now!_**"

And Eros, when he tries to knock an arrow, is swept up by the wind of Typhon's wrath, and Venus falls. As Eros flies into the air; into the swirling, spinning black winds of Typhon's body, his own body is ripped apart, completely and totally; skin from flesh, flesh from bone, and bone from bone, all within the span of a few seconds. His arrows fly throughout the winds of the beast, and Folkvarthr scratches my leg. _We must be off, James. _

I hear Venus scream, and when I turn to look behind me, I see the army of the new gods fighting Typhon; the ones who fucking _can_, anyway. Some, they start to fight, make a feral growl that I can hear through the screaming winds, but they're fighting. Kids – demigod children of the new gods – or kids, given powers, I guess, by Venus.

Like Alex, who's dead now.

Like Ares and Zeus and all the others. Like my dad.

Like Viola.

_I'm supposed to __**hate **__Hades. _I'm supposed to hate Hades, and here I am, running after one of his **_friends_**. I **_should_** be fighting for Venus; I should be protecting her, with the rest of the army. Instead I'm running away from her. What the **_fuck_** am I doing?

_ But she killed Alex – and you __**saw**__ her do that. Why would she do that?_

_"She gave him his power. She wants it back." _

She wanted Eros to shoot me. What the **_fuck_** am I doing? _I don't know what to do._ Typhon's winds are destroying the palace, and as I duck underneath fallen, burning marble, I feel the hairs on my arms and neck being singed off. The dark wind is screaming through the fallen halls, and when Folkvarthr and I finally get back outside to the front of the palace, I see Typhon's gigantic body looming over the palace. He's fucking **_huge_** – I can't even really say how fucking huge, but I'll _try_. He's as big as mountain, maybe – the **_biggest_** fucking mountain ever; bigger than _Everest_, fucking bigger than that volcano on planet _Mars. _

_Ares._

A fucking leviathan, an abomination of size. And he's a giant _storm_.

I see the new gods, less than the 30,000 I know there are, trying to fight him. They're dying. These are _my_ people, I made _my_ choice.

_I'm supposed to hate Hades._

So why **_don't_** I?

Why do I want to fucking _see_ that _stupid __**fucking **_smile of _his_ again – the one that makes me feel like I've done something _right_. . . the one that makes me feel like I _am_ good?

_"You are good, Jim."_

_I'm supposed to hate Hades. _

"I don't know what to do." I fucking scream it, even as I'm running after Folkvarthr. The wind of Typhon is ripping at my skin, and I see a flash of Eros' flesh being torn from his body. Something tells me that he's _not_ coming back from that, even if he is a god. The new gods are dying, dying, dying, fighting and dying, and there's black winds that rip at the skin and flay flesh and what am _I _doing?

What the **_fuck_** am I doing, **_running_**?

_I don't know what to do._

The ground outside is split and cracked, and if you look through one of the cracks, you can see the earth below; land masses of Europe and the Mediterranean, and if you fall it's a **_long _**way down, and no matter how strong I am, I'm not a god.

And even gods can die.

_I'm supposed to hate Hades. _

_"You still have that purple dragon, sailor?" _

_ "'Course, Vy."_

_ "You won't let me fall, right?"_

_He doesn't pull her down – _

_ He catches her._

_ She dies anyway. _

We're getting close to a blue _rip_ in space; blue and swirling and cackling with electricity. A portal, like the one I saw _Him_ use, escaping hand in hand with my mom. He screamed when they killed Zeus, and I saw him, and I hated him and I wanted to**_ kill_** him. My mom **_went_** with him.

_"She loved him." _I said that – _I_ said that to Cronus. A man with winged shoes zips through the portal, so fast I can barely see him, and I want to zip through too, but all my body will let me do is run like a mundane mortal, and I don't know why. _Like a coward_. And memories, as vivid as when you dream, cloud in front of my eyes.

"I wish my dad could see me now," I said.

"He'd be very proud of you," Hades told me, softly, looking straight ahead at our clear path. I remember crying.

"Haha, you think so?" Flashing lights and city sounds.

"Most definitely," he had said. He wanted to say something else. _ He should've. _

"**_Follow him!_**" I hear Venus scream. Viola's voice, corrupted. I look back at her, and she's pointing at me. Even in all this carnage, she wants _me_. She wants to _use_ me. All everyone has ever wanted to do is _use_ me –

Alex, Venus, _Hades._

_I'm supposed to hate Hades. _But the hate won't come. What _am_ I doing? Why am I running from the path _I've_ fucking _chosen_? **_What am I doing?_**

_I __**don't**__**know **__what to do. _

_"You are good, Jim."_

I feel Typhon's hand – I fucking _feel _his hand, reaching towards me, in the way the ground beneath my feet tears into the air and in the way my own skin starts to tear from me. I'm _so_ close to the portal – so close to . . . what?

Close to my mom?

Hades, and his smile, like a dad's?

Close to being _good _again?

_"You are good, Jim."_

My skin is ripping from me; I'm only three steps away, and I'm being **_torn apart_**, like Eros. A fitting fate for a murderer.

The cold will make me think.

Somehow, in a fucking _wail_, a scream of a thousand tornados, I'm let go, and when I look back, Folkvarthr has thrown up a shield. It's white and blue energy coming from him; it's his _soul_.

_Go, Jim, _Folkvarthr says.

My cat – **_ the_** **_best fucking cat in the world_**. My _friend,_ who betrayed me. _But he __**didn't**__. Neither did Hades. _But I don't know what to believe. _"Believe what you know is true."_

Folkvarthr is screaming, and the winds are screaming too, and Venus' army is fighting Typhon and coming after me. _Go, Jim! _He's _dying_ – he'll be gone _forever_; his_ soul_ is being destroyed.

My face is wet.

I'm crying.

**Shut up.**

_ "__**Folkvarthr!**__"_ Don't leave me. _I don't know what to do._

_ Go! _

And in one last blast of blue light, he's gone, and his small, furry little body is torn apart like a piece of tissue paper, and I feel Typhon's hand starting to grab for me again. Go, he told me. _I don't know what to do. _

I go, running through the portal, with my hand on the sword Hades gave me.

And the war follows me.

PERSEPHONE

Amon's hands are bound in front of him as he is led to the execution site. The day is extra-cloudy – and it's even more gray than usual. The clouds are starting to turn dark. It's going to rain. I watch as he takes each step, but he doesn't look like a man on his way to his own execution; he's making lewd comments and waggling his eyebrows, and being an all-around ass, and that worries me more than I can say.

My husband has his father's scythe, and it's . . . _weird _to see Cronus, who looks _so much_ like him. He showed up this morning, with Thanatos and Hecate in toe. From 299 to 302.

After about two hours of deep sleep, Hades woke up. He asked me to shave off his hair.

"It's too long," he said. "Someone may try to grab it."

And it _had_ gotten long, touching his shoulders. So I did as he asked, feeling a little sad that I wouldn't be able to run my hands through it, at least not for a while. "When the war is over, grow it out again for me?" _When the war is over. _

He smiled, kissed my hand. "Of course."

In the end, I left him with a buzz cut. When we were done, he held Aria for a long time, sitting down next to me. He made green flames dance in front of her eyes, and that really freaked me out for a moment – my old ways of living as a human came back to me, _and fire and baby = bad_ – but he was in complete control, and she was _entranced_. He moved his fingers, making the green flames take different shapes, and I saw a three-headed dog, and remembered that I'd hadn't seen Cerberus in a very long time. Next was a horse, and it ran and reared and even in green flames, it was beautiful. "Your uncle made that," he whispered to her. She kept gazing; looking at the shapes of fish and squid form and swim about the room. And then, when the forms of people came out, he kissed her head, said, "Your other uncle made them." And he showed a couple getting married, and their family and he told her about Hera. When a group of flowers started to appear in the flames, and petals began to lazily spin around us, he said to her, "And your beautiful mother makes those."

And we just stayed like that, in each other's presence and warmth. Finally, he broke the silence. "I want you to leave today," he said, stroking Aria's little cheek.

". . .Leave, Hades?"

"Yes, my lady," he said. "You and Aria." _Leave?_ How could I leave? I was queen just as much as he was king. My place was here, with him, leading.

"Hades . . ."

He turned his head, and without his hair to cover up the top of his scar, he looked more fierce than usual. Despite all that, his tone was gentle. "Persephone, war is coming. Soon."

"My love, we've discussed this . . . Aria is to be spirited away by the cats."

He looked down her, shook his head after a long moment. "She needs her mother." I touched his cheek, and I felt him tense. "She also needs her father."

"Persephone-"

"Hades."

He leaned his forehead against mine. "Please," he said. "_Please_, do this for me." His voice was desperate and choked, and he was **_hurting_**.

And_ I_ was the one hurting him.

"She needs you," he said again, kissing me.

And again, I told him, "She needs you too."

He sighed, and I felt his free hand running through my hair. "I need to be here. I need to lead them; I am their king."

"And I am their queen."

He laughed, a genuine laugh, happy and joyful. "You rule over them, as you rule over me." He sighed again, becoming serious once more. "Please, Persephone. I am asking this of you; I will not order you. Please, take our child away from here, today. Find someplace safe, and I will look for you when the war is done. You have my word."

I could feel wet streaks running down my face. "But Hades –" _What if you don't come back?_ He knew what I was asking, even if I couldn't get the words out, and he kissed me. "I'll come back," he said. "For you and Aria, I'll come back." He kissed the tears away from my cheeks, whispered in my ear. "I'll set the whole world on fire if I have to. Nothing will stop me – not Typhon, not Aphrodite, not those damned angels – nothing. Nothing, my lady, do you understand? I will come back to you, I _will_. So please, do this for me: take our daughter away from this place, keep her safe, and I will find you."

"And what about Jim?" I asked him. "What about my son?"

He leaned back to look me in the eye, the fingers of his free hand on the nape of my neck. His blue eyes looked directly into mine; soft and gentle like the sky – a father's eyes – and he said, without any hesitation, "When I return, it will be with our son."

And I agreed. I agreed to leave; to take Aria away from this place, after I saw that Amon was gone forever; after I would **_know_**, have tangible proof that he could never enter my husband's mind ever again. It was a compromise, and in the following hours, Cronus had arrived. He was in clean clothes, and he was well-groomed, which surprised me, but I suppose my husband had him cleaned up before releasing him from prison. My mother shrank away at the sight of him, and Hestia looked at him in wide-eyed fear and fascination. When Rhea saw him, she turned as pale as a ghost, and I couldn't tell if it was from fear or something else.

"Rhea," Cronus said, his voice deep and gravelly, just like my husband's, "It is . . . good, to see you again."

And then, she rushed towards him, looking like a young girl embracing her sweetheart. He was startled – and it was odd, seeing such an ancient being startle, but his thick arms curled around her, and he embraced her in return. "I've missed you," he said, and even though her face was buried in his chest, I could tell by her shaking that she was crying. And after a few moments, Hades had touched his shoulder, and Cronus had turned, and grabbed his son in a big bear-hug, and that was when I realized that Zeus was built more like Cronus than any of the brothers. Hades was stiff and uncomfortable with the embrace from his father, but he returned it.

"Father," he said, putting on the voice of a king, "I need your strength today, and for all days to come. Will you give it?"

And his father – once so prideful and paranoid as to swallow his children in fear of losing his own power – his father got on his **_knees_**. "You are my king, Aidoneus. I give you my strength, my loyalty and my life."

And then, Athena kneeled. "And mine as well, my king."

And then she was followed by Thor and Hel, who called him Pluto, and asked that when things were done, if they could _finally_ get to playing some chess. All the gods did this; everyone there, and they pledged allegiance to me as well. And so it was.

Now here we are, with Hades dressed in his black armor, holding his father's scythe, black and gleaming, and me to his right, along with the other leaders of the gods. Everyone here is dressed for battle, even me, in simple armor. Aria is with my mother, inside, and there is a ward around the building, made with the strength of all the gods here, to protect it in case of attack. But there are holes – it is in no way impenetrable. And the mortals . . . the mortals here have all gone from this town. It's only us now.

From 299 to 302.

Amon is put on his knees, and in the few weeks that he's been here, his beard has grown out, wild and unkempt, and he looks as feral as his psyche is.

I don't see the angels; haven't seen them for days. The angels have left us, the clouds overhead are getting darker, and I feel fear sink low in my belly. _It's going to rain. But who will be controlling the rain? _

"Any last words?" Odin asks, sneering.

"Your anger makes me hard." Nobody laughs, and when my husband walks over to him, strong and kingly in his black armor, trimmed with gold, we all breathe a sigh of relief.

"Amon," Hades says, his voice strong against the wind, "For the crimes of murder, rape and torture of human beings, and the old gods, I, Hades Aidoneus Clymenus Polydectes; the Unseen, Receiver of Many, Lord of the Underworld, King of the Heavens and the Seas, and Lord of all the Gods do sentence you to die." He lifts the scythe high up in the air, and it's about to come down, down, down –

But the sky rips open, and Hermes flies through, screaming, "**_They're here!_**"

JIM

I fall through the portal, with the feeling of Typhon's winds and wrath nipping right at my heels, and hearing Venus' screams. When I reach the other side, there's a loud popping sound in my ears, and I see Hermes – he's _gotta_ be Hermes - flying not too far ahead in front of me.

"**_They're here!_**" he screams. "**_And Typhon is following them!_**"

And then I hear _His_ voice – his actual voice; not dreamed, but here, in physical reality, and my chest gets that weird tugging feeling again. "_What_?" he asks, and as I crash to the ground, I hear Dagon's evil laughter. "_Jim!_" Hades yells, and then my mom, "_Jim?_"

But I've hit the ground too hard; my head is spinning, and I can't say anything, and then Typhon's winds are here, and the new gods, too. Thousands of them.

As Typhon comes through the swirling portal, he _rips _it wider; creating a space big enough for him to fit through, and for all the new gods to pour out. And they're still fighting him, even in traveling through the portal; still trying to kill him, and being sucked up by his winds and being torn apart like Eros.

As Typhon comes through the portal, his black, swirling winds cover the sky, and not just the sky here; _somehow_, I know that when he does this, he covers the **_world_** in darkness. And then he screams; his winds screeching like the deadly winds of thousands of tornados. His hand stretches far over the sky, and when it comes back, he's holding a _mountain_. Wait, no, not a mountain – a fucking _volcano_, and he breaks it in two, letting his winds suck up the molten rock and ash and turning him even more deadly than before. This is hell; this is it, as red blood spills from new god, demigod children when he tears the skins from their bodies. Kids I never talked to, not really; never really got to know most. I didn't want to, but now I see them dying, and it _hurts_.

HADES

Amon laughs. "See you around, Hades. My lady is calling me, and she gives me strength." He winks at me, disappearing, despite his bonds.

_No, no, no. This isn't right. _The world is hot as I look up at Typhon; hot from the molten rock he's surrounded his body with, and hot with the blood of new gods being spilt.

"Hades, what do you command?" It is Odin, and his voice is as calm as ever. I look at the number of new gods; still too many for us hope to conquer, even with all our efforts. I think of Aria, and think of my wife, and of her son – _our son_ – and I know we must _try_. What else is there to do, now?

I swallow, steel myself, and raise my father's scythe towards Typhon and the new gods. "**_FIGHT!_**"

"Fucking finally," Thor grunts, taking out his war hammer. "It's about damn time."

"Son!" my father yells, "My scythe!" I toss it to him, and he catches it, gaining strength.

"Fight well, Father," I yell.

"And you, Aidoneus."

I make my staff appear in my hands, fused with the power of Poseidon's trident and Zeus' lightning bolt. I am missing my helm. "Persephone," I shout, and she's there, right beside me. "Our daughter." She nods, immediately traveling through the ether. They will be safe, at least.

_Please, please be safe. _

I look to where I saw Jim fall, try to yell his name again, but I am knocked down by Typhon's great blast of wind. "**_HADES_**," the storm screams, "**_BROTHER OF ZEUS, FIRST SWALLOWED AND RULER OF THE UNDERWORLD, I WILL RIP THE SKIN FROM YOUR BONES AND SERVE YOUR FLESH TO YOUR BROTHER!_**"

The other gods – our allies, are beginning to pour out of the hotel, and the battle is here; there is no more running. This is it. The end. _Persephone, please be safe. _

"I'm_ sure_ my brother would've _appreciated _you giving him my flesh to _feast _on. But first you would have to catch me, Typhon. I doubt you can."

"**_I WILL RIP YOU LIMB FROM LIMB, AND THE MORTALS WILL TELL THE TERROR OF YOUR FATE TO SCARE THEIR CHILDREN._**"

"I'm waiting."

And then, the earth makes a deep, guttural sound, and a fissure opens up in the nearby mountains, causing them to crack like an egg, and I use my staff to keep my balance.

_"Very good, Hades," _a voice in the air says, deep and **_wrong_**. "_You and your friends managed to keep things interesting. I said I'd get rid of 15,000 for you right? Right, I know I did. Now I'll thrown in Typhon for good measure, just because crushing him will be so much fun_."

As the mountains continue to spilt, thousands of solid shadows come rushing out, each deformed and each silhouette more ugly and frightening than the last. They pour forward, over the cracked mountains and to the thousands of new gods, fighting against Typhon and against my allies. "_Of course, if I kill some of the new gods, I have to kill some of the old gods; just to even things out, you know." No._

_ "No!" _I scream. "_We __**never **__asked for your intervention."_

_"It doesn't matter; I'm __**very **__generous, and would like to give it. This is the most fun I've had in a __**ages**__. But who shall I choose now?" _

For a moment, the fighting has stopped, because everyone – even Typhon – is entranced by the voice. _"Shall it be Odin, great old one-eyed bastard that he is? Or that mighty son of his? Or Bast? So many choices, so lovely and enticing. To be honest, I would choose __**you**__, Hades, but that will chance getting a lecture from my father, and I do __**not **__enjoy those. I was considering your wife, as well, but you and your little family seem to be a package deal to my father . . .So, who shall it be instead, hmmm? I . . .I . . . I , I , I . . . I think I'll go with Odin and Bast. Oh, and your __**mother**__, just to needle your old man." _

_"NO!" _

_ "I'll, of course, leave Aphrodite and that pet of hers to you old gods. __**That**__ will be quite a lot of fun for me to watch. Ta-ta, Hades, and thanks so much for the entertainment."_

Soon, the black shadows slither down from the mountains, and towards the battle, _devouring _the gods in their path – new _and _old. Fūjin is swallowed; eaten by the shadows, and thousands of new gods follow suit. They crawl up the sprawling, molten form of Typhon's body, consuming him whole, and the new gods that fight against him and us, and I spot Odin and Bast, caught in all the chaos.

_No, no, no, no, no. Please, no. "BAST, ODIN, AROUND YOU!"_

They're trying to fight the new gods, using their powers; trying to get away, but this is the will of Lucifer, and he chosen them **_directly_**. _No, no, no, no, no. Please. NO. _

When Odin's foot is touched, he spots me, looks me in the eye, and I read his lips. "Sorry, lad," he says. "I tried."

Bast is consumed, bone and skin and flesh bubbling up and adding to the solid shadow and extension of the fallen angel's will. And then Odin is eaten, and when he is gone, his birds flying overhead fall and crash to the ground. _No, no, no, no. NO. NO!_

**_"NO!" _**

I hear my father's screams, and when I turn my head, I see my _mother_. They're fighting to get to each other. And my mother, she's fighting – fighting _so hard_, and my father **_can't_** **_reach her_**. The dark shadows consume the new gods around her, and swallow_ her_ too, even as she looks at me, and the last thing I can hear her say is, "Aidoneus –" before her flesh is melted and eaten and –

**_"MOTHER!" _**She is gone, forever. **_Forever, and I couldn't save her_**_._ My throat is raw, and yet I scream, "**_NO!_**" And as Typhon's body is eaten, the sky is no longer black; it is blood-red. With one final screech, Typhon's body is completely destroyed, adding to the black shadow; and now that it's served its purpose, it, too, disappears into the air. Thor and Amaterasu are still fighting; so many are _still_ fighting. The sky is red. With the combined power of myself and my brothers, I rush into the fray, my leg protesting all the way. This is war, and casualties are taken in war. I will not mourn (not yet).

I will_ not_ lose.

_Where is Jim?_

PERSEPHONE

The world outside is rumbling, and my heart is beating hard; so hard, it hurts. The gods in the hotel are rushing out, rushing out to fight for my husband and their own leaders. _And Jim is there._ I need to be strong; I need to do this for Aria, and for my husband. I run in to our room where my mom should be , but I stop dead in my tracks. Aphrodite is here.

And she's _holding_ my baby.

"She looks like him," she coos. I flick my eyes to the left; see my mother lying on the ground, with her chest torn open and her heart ripped out. Tears sting in my eyes. _Oh, __**Mom**__. __**No**__.. . _ I hear Amon's laughter to my right, and I don't think I've ever sweated so much in my life_. There's two of them; I can't take two of them on at once_. "She does," Amon spits, "little _brat_."

Aphrodite smiles at me; **_smiles_** at me, as she _kisses_ my child, whispering sweet things to her. "She is so lovely, my dragon. How do you think _he_ will react he sees his precious little daughter in your arms?"

And even though I'm looking at Aphrodite, I know Amon is smiling that face-splitting grin. "Wonderfully," he says.

Aphrodite's smile grows wider, and Amon walks up to her, kisses her on the mouth in such a way that it looks like they're fucking each other and becoming one with just their _mouths_. When they're done, Aphrodite hands Amon my little girl. I've stopped breathing. "He's caused enough trouble for me. See that he suffers," Aphrodite says. "_Greatly_."

"I wouldn't do it any other way, my lady."

"Oh, and Dagon?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"Wear your mask. They've yet to truly see you." He smirks. "Yes, my lady." He takes Aria in his wormy arms, and she starts to cry; _wail_, _wail_ and **_wail_**. Amon grins down at her. "Don't worry, you little crotch-dumpling; you'll see your father soon enough." And then he nods at me. "When I'm done pulling his pretty eyes out from his dead corpse, I am going to have you in ways he never would've dared. And you'll be clawing at my back while I touch you with his blood still fresh on my hands." He has Aria. He _has_ her. She's crying. He'll take my husband's eyes out; fuck me with his blood still on his hands.

_He has Aria. He has Aria. He's going to hurt her, and then he's going to hurt Hades. _

He disappears in a cloud of white smoke. I've failed. _Failed_ to protect my _daughter_; failed Hades. My hands are shaking. Aphrodite is smiling at me, leaning back against the crib. She sniffs. "Oh, you two have such a_ pungent_ scent." She gags. "It's **_disgusting_**. I didn't even need Eros to shoot you with an arrow; you two would have fallen in love anyway, given time. But no – I _had_ to be sure. But now my idiot son is dead. And here, in your room, holding your little brat; **_Creator_**, your smell is **_in_** my **_nose_**. It makes me **_sick_**, your. . . **_love_**."

_He has Aria. He has Aria. He's going to hurt her, and then he's going to hurt Hades._

"You're the goddess of love."

_He's going to tear my husband's eyes out. _

She laughs, and it's _evil_. "The most underestimated position in history. Love is the greatest motivator of all; it's what drives everyone, even gods. Love is **_power_**, Persephone. Ares loved war; was War, and he reveled in the slaughters. Eris, too; she reveled in disaster. Now in this conflict there is the greatest combination of the two, and Thanatos is left to pick up the pieces that dead mortals leave behind." She sniffs again, choking on whatever it is she smells. "I love **_power_**. I _hate_ love. I hate its **_emotions_**. I hate how it **_smells_**. I can't tell you how many times I had to keep myself from **_gagging _**whenever I had to touch that **_stupid_** boy of yours. He was completely _drenched_ in your smell, and the girl's and worst of all, **_Hades'_**smell. A **_father's _**love. **_Disgusting._** " She shakes her head, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Hades' smell is the most **_pungent_** of all. It . . . **_sticks_** to everyone. It's . . . **_revolting_**, how much he **_feels_** for others. He is a _god_; he should be _indifferent_. Zeus' smell got more pungent with time, and Poseidon's even more so, but Hades – when the Titanomachy ended, and I finally was around the children of Cronus, he smelled the **_most_**. **_Love_** for his brothers Poseidon and Zeus, love for Hestia and Hera, and at the time, so much love for Demeter. The only one who smelled just as bad was **_Hestia_**; but her smell never **_stuck_**to anything. And then, he fell in love with that human girl, on his own – and I could **_smell_**him all the way from Olympus. And then, with you - **_Creator_**, with **_you_**–" she makes a gagging sound again, "With you, Persephone, it was even **_worse._** " She stands up, sniffing all around her. "This place is **_disgusting_**." She turns to look at me again. "Love is **_power_**, Persephone, and though I **_hate_** love, **_power_** is what I **_crave_**, and I intend to**_ take_**it, from you, from Hades, from all the gods of old, and when I'm done, I intend to make war on the Creator himself. And I will use your son to do it."

_He has Aria. He has Aria. He's going to hurt her, and then he's going to hurt Hades. He's going to tear my husband's eyes out._

"My son?"

"Oh yes," she says, walking towards me. She runs her fingers over the tops of my lips, smiles at me. "He is young, and easily controlled. It won't take much to reel him back in. It was almost too easy to do it the first time. And he is _such_ a gentle lover –"

The slap sends her reeling back, and she wipes her mouth, seeing that I've drawn blood. She smiles. "Is that how we're going to play this, Kore?"

"I haven't been Kore for a very long time."

Her eyes narrow as her smirk grows wider. "No, you haven't been. He must've been **_quite_** clumsy, your first time. He'd only been with that human woman once or twice, and so long before he was with you. He might as well have been a virgin. How did he manage to bring you _any _pleasure at all? Even now?"

Power is in my hands. One on one; I can do this. For Aria, for Jim, for my husband, I _must_.

"He loves me."

She snarls, shaping a seashell in her hands. "So be it." She blows on it, and waves come crashing in all around us. Water. I'm in water. Water won't kill me. I hope.

_I need to kill her. _

But how? I've no treated weapon.

I need to tear her heart out. She is an old god. She will die like that. Like Mom and Hera and Zeus and Poseidon and Apollo. She will receive no mercy from me. She pulls me down into the water, scratching at my face with her long nails, and I see red and gold blood pour into the water. Red blood. That's not good.

I concentrate on the power in my hands; the power I've worked so hard to get back after all these months of training. I feel a tingling sensation in my fingertips, send that sensation out, toward Aphrodite, binding her. And it's a struggle here; underwater, feeling the power of the ocean in this room. I need to breathe. _I can't breathe_. I'll die here.

_I need to kill her._

_ He has Aria. He has Aria. He's going to hurt her, and then he's going to hurt Hades. He's going to tear my husband's eyes out._

_ I need to kill her. _

I grab her neck, but she doesn't need to breathe, not really. It won't kill her, like it might kill me. Looks like all the ambrosia I've eaten still isn't enough. _I need to kill her. _I feel lightheaded as I reach out the vines, and she's using her power, too; bringing more water in; more water pressure. . . I . . .need to

Kil. . .l . . . he . . .r

Ne . . .ed . . . . . .air. . . .

Too . . .weak. _He has Aria. He has Aria. He's going to hurt her, and then he's going to hurt Hades. He's going to tear my husband's eyes out._

_I need to kill her._

Vines out into her chest. Pretty . . . sure . . .sh . . . she . . . scr . . . eams. Heart, pull. Out.

De . . .ad.

"AIR!" I shout, breathing it all in. The water disappears with her life, leaving me soaking wet, but in the world of air. I look down at her, chest open, and her dead, brown, beautiful eyes looking up at me. Her golden heart is in my hands, slick and disgusting, and I throw it at the opposite wall, where it hits with a hideous splat. Her body twitches and I kick it away from me. "That's what you _get_ for fucking with my _family,_" I say, but my voice is the shakiest it's ever been. "Damn bitch." I kick her again, just to make sure she's dead, and thank the Lord, she is. But then the world around me rumbles, and I remember that the war is going on outside, too.

_He has Aria. He has Aria. He's going to hurt her, and then he's going to hurt Hades. He's going to tear my husband's eyes out._

I have to save them, and for the first time in a long time, I pray – I _actually_ pray. Because there are beings greater than gods, and that is **_God, the Creator_**, and he's as real as the angels or as the floor I'm running on.

_Please, God,_ I beg_. I know you're out there._ _Please, keep my family safe. I know I'm not perfect – none of us are, but we need you now. Please._

_Please, God, don't let me be too late._

JIM

His screams tear at me; _kill_ me, because he's losing people left and right, and _I don't know what to do._ I have my sword out, but no one is coming close to me, and I see him slicing and cutting through the new gods – gods and kids – and I feel sick. There's blood everywhere – fucking **_everywhere._** You can even smell it in the air, and the ground is _soaked_ in it; golden ichor and red iron. And he hits the ground with his staff, causing another huge – _huge_ earthquake – and the ground splits and I fall, hard, and watch as hundreds of new gods fall into the chasms of open earth. Typhon is gone, now; but the clouds still want to rain and thunder, and where there is a break in their coverage, the sky burns red. So the air is hot and steaming with blood and cutting and slicing, and the water stings like ice, and I remember Cronus' words: "The cold makes you think."

And then, he spots me, surprise and relief on his face, and he does that thing where he disappears and reappears in smoke in across from me. He's not too close; about 20 feet in front of me, and the fighting is far from us. We**_ were_** 30,000 strong. Now we look like we're maybe only a couple thousand, thanks to Typhon and those shadows. But Hades; Hades and the old gods are much less than they were- maybe like only 170. He's covered in blood from head to toe – some of it is red, lots of it is gold. His hair is short like mine now. "Jim," he breathes. He doesn't smile. There's too much carnage to smile. I don't smile either, even though I want to.

(I don't hug him, either, even though I just want to bury my head against his chest and wish for all this shit to **_go away._**)

"Sorry to break up this lovely little reunion," it's Dagon's voice. **_Fucking Dagon_**. "But I think there's something you should see, Your Grace." And Hades is looking at me, and I've never seen him . . . _afraid_, like this, before. He turns his head, stiffly, slowly; turns it towards Dagon, and my eyes water from all the smoke and blood and death surrounding us. And Dagon is there, holding a squalling baby in his arms. Where'd he get a _baby_?

But I see Hades, shaking with fear and **_RAGE_**, so black and dark that I can feel it in the air, and it's suffocating, and I see the black-haired kid in Dagon's arms_. Oh my God . . ._

"I think your little crotch-dumpling bitch wants you, Hades. She won't stop crying."

_ My sister. He has my __**sister**__._

And then I see the blade in his hand, lightly tracing the top of her head, and it's a _black blade_, and one little prick with it and she's _gone. _And she's crying, crying, **_crying_** and I see Hera and Zeus and Ares and Quetzalcoatl, all looking at me with dead eyes. "With all her crying, Hades, my hand just might _slip_ . . . and, well, it'll be the end for your. Precious. Little. Girl. But, I think that might be perfect retribution for what you did to my jaw, don't you? Then again, it's not like _she'll_ ever come back from _this_."

"What have you done with my _wife_?" Hades asks, all tense and barely controlled rage. I can hear the real question in his words: _Why do __**you**__ have my fucking kid, you little __**prick**__?_

"You mean your _slut_?" Dagon looks at me, "She's probably dead now. She had to fight the Lady. I'm sure if I look for her consciousness, I'll . . . wait, no. No, this **_can't_** be. **_NO!_**"

Now it's Dagon's turn to be shaking, and when he looks like he's about to slice my sister – **_a kid, a baby _**– the blade ends up flying towards _me_. And it's too fast, and I can't move because his wild stare holds me in place and _I can't move._

HADES

He's going to hurt my child. He's going to hurt her – _kill her_. I can stop him; I'm fast enough. He's raising the blade, and I'm ready, and then it flies towards Jim. _No. _

_ Move. Move Jim. _

_**MOVE. **_

JIM

He pushes me out the way – doesn't get in front of thing, because _no_, he doesn't want to _die_. But the blade sails true, and it pierces through the armor on his back, so far that I can see the point sticking out from his fucking abdomen, and the blood that comes out is red. _All red._ The sound is a deep "thunk" sound over all the slashing of swords and hammers in the background. It pierces armor, then it pierces through softer flesh and through bone, and he gasps. _I'm supposed to hate him._

_No, Hades. Don't leave me, please._

Time slows, and every time I take a breath I can hear it loudly in my ears. The world is gray and red – _blood-red_ – and it's raining ice water and ash. His hands are on my shoulders, tight, gripping and grasping for purchase. He's falling to his knees, and he's trying to say something, but I can't hear him over my own breathing and his words are coming out with sputtered red – God, it's so **_red_**– blood. I hold him up underneath his arms, trying to keep him up, because if I let him fall, he'll be gone **_forever_**, and I can't lose him like that; the closest thing to a father I've ever had. Not like this, never like this. Why? **_Why_**_ is this happening?_

"J-Jim," he sputters. I hold him up. _Don't let him fall, or he'll be gone forever. And you will __**break**__. _But he's falling, no matter how he grasps me, no matter how much I want to keep him here. "Jim, s-save your s-sister." I'm shaking my head and my face is wet with more than the rain.

"Don't leave," I say. "Please," and he's falling and _dying_ – _Ares, Zeus, Hera, Quetzalcoatl_.

He laughs, pained and gruff. "I l-like t-t-to s-s-t-tay, but . . ." His grip is loosening on me, and his bright blue eyes are fading fast. "Jim, save your sister." He manages to push the whole sentence out without sputtering, but . . .he _groans_, pained and delirious.

"I can't," I tell him, and now we're both on our knees.

"Y-y can," he breathes, falling down onto his back, "you must." And that's it – his eyes fade, close and I feel his soul, strong and powerful, fade, too.

"**_No!_**" I scream. Everything fucking hurts.**_ Everything fucking hurts! _**Red blood is pooling underneath us – his blood. "Hades, please." I shake him and shake him and shake him. "Please." And I lean my head against his chest, covered in black armor. "_Dad, please_." _Don't leave me._

And then, I hear my mom, **_screaming_**, and she's running towards us. She's touching his face, feeling his pulse, doing CPR; all the things that people do when they're desperate. She cradles his head on her lap, crying and crying, holding tightly onto him.

_He's gone. _

He's gone, and Dagon is laughing. _"Save your sister,"_ he said. I stand, and my mom looks up at me. "Jim?" she asks, and her voice is raw, and she's hurt – so, so fucking **_hurt_**, and I was a part of it. I can't fix what I've done, I can't change the past. "Keep his body safe," I tell her, and she nods. I can't do lots of things –

**_But I can. Kill. This. Goddamn. Little. Piece. Of .Shit._**

"You killed Our Lady, Jimmy," he says, pinching my little sister's feet. "For that, I'm going to eat this brat, and then you, and make your mother watch."

I take out the sword Hades gave me, all those months ago – the sword I dipped in poison, with the intention to fucking kill him, and how could I have _ever_ thought to do that? I look at the sword, beautiful and perfectly balanced, and better-made than any of the shit the new gods forged, and then I realize – it was _his _own sword. He gave me **_his own damn_** sword. I flex my hand around the hilt. The sword is a part of my arm. I will not drop it. "I didn't kill Venus."

"Your **_whore mother_** did. Your whole family is a fucking **_disease_**, Jimmy, and I'm gonna kill you all, starting with this annoying little brat."

"The hell you are." I know that voice – Cronus, breathing hard and with his scythe at his side. Time **_really does_** slow down now, and he nods forward. "Save the blood of our blood, prince," he says, pained, and this shit is taking a lot out him. Amon is about to slice my little sister, this time with a treated blade, but he's moving slow, stuck in time, and I move as fast as I can, alert and on guard, and snatch her from him, and even in this slow state, I can tell she's still crying. And I run back to Cronus and my mom and Hades – _Dad._

And time returns to the way it should be, and Dagon looks up with those purple eyes I've learned to hate so, **_so fucking much_**. I give my mom my baby sister, and her crying has calmed a bit, but not much.

"Ah, Cronus," Dagon says, frowning, "I should've known. You should be thanking me – all of your children are dead, except maybe one, and your wife is probably dead. You could join us; join us as a free man."

Cronus looks at all the devastation around him, at his dead son on the ground. "Being free is overrated, Lucifer scum."

_That _makes Dagon freak out. "I am _not_ . . . not a _fiend _of Lucifer! The_ Creator _made me with his own hands; **_molded _**me like he did Chaos! I was _born_ to rule alongside my lady, and your _dirty _kin **_killed _**her!"

"Did _she_ tell you that? You're nothing but a sadistic_ child_ with some powers. You have Lucifer's stamp all over you."

"**_Shut up!_**" Dagon screams, and Cronus is knocked back on his heels. He looks up at me. "This is your fight, my prince – my king." King.

Hades is dead. _Don't leave me._

And I am his son._ Dad, please. _

I am king.

_I can't do this. _

"_You can. You must." _

I step forward again, sword – _his sword; the one he gave me_ – ready. Dagon sneers at me. "You think you're a hard man, boy?" He asked me that before. This time, I answer.

"Hard enough to kill you." And outside of this bubble, I know the fighting is still going on, but here, there is only us; only us, with the red and black sky, and the rain and the ash falling. He smirks, wipes his hand over his face, creating a mask and then I remember:

The **_man in the suit_**, holding Viola in the air, throwing her down – _killing_ her. Hades _never_ did anything to me; I've been completely manipulated all along like a damn _fucking fool_, and other people have had to pay for _my_ mistakes. "Do you want to know why Our Lady always called me 'her dragon'?"

"Because your name is really similar? "

He laughs, evil, and malicious. "No, Jimmy – I **_am_** a dragon."

That's fine. Every young person has to fight their dragons.

PERSEPHONE

Jim looks so confident, so strong. _My son. _He has a sword, and on the blade, near the hilt, I can see Hades' sigil. . . I look down at him, eyes shut, not moving or breathing, and the corners of his mouth and beard stained with red blood. His hair – _hair I just cut this morning_ - is wet from the rain. _I was too late. _My prayer went unheard, but yet I still pray, because I am desparate.

_God, __**please**__, protect my son. _Aria is crying, inconsolable, and she _knows_ – only a baby, but she _knows_ –

He's gone.

My eyes feel hot from so many tears, and when I look down at him again, his image is so blurry that it's almost like I'm not looking at him at all. _He's gone_, my mother's gone, my father's gone; so many –

_Gone. _

There's an exchange of words, and Amon - Dagon, this monster's real name is Dagon – makes a mask form over his face, and as he does so, I see the muscles underneath his ragged shirt ripple and move. Cronus is sitting by me the whole time, and that does **_not_** comfort me. And then, Dagon's shirt rips around his body as his muscles bulge even further. His skin turns dark purple, rimmed with thick scales, and his pants rip, and then he grows; first becoming the size of a bus, and then a building, and his jaw beings to protrude outward, with sharp – _sharp_ – teeth, and his eyes gleam an evil violet. A tail grows, and his hands turn into scaled palms with black, thick nails, the size of small cars. His giant wings flap, creating great gusts of wind that scrape the skin.

"Well, are you ready, Aether Brat?"

And Jim looks back at me, and his sister, and then Hades, and I see the steel in his eyes. "Ready."

JIM

"Kick his ass, Jim," my mom says. Don't need to tell me twice. It would help if he weren't so gigantic, but I know how to fight that, and the conditions are perfect for it. I raise my sword up, not calling down lightening, but aether, and the sky turns a neon blue over us, instead of a blood- red. I feel it dancing at the ends of my fingers, and I shoot it forward towards Dagon, even has he begins to breathe fire. The fire he breathes is blue; blue like a blue star; and when he was happy and strong, blue like Hades' eyes.

The fighting has around us has stopped – everyone is looking at the kid bringing down scorching tendrils of blue and white light, and the fucking _purple dragon_. _This guy ain't my stuffed animal Drake_, I think to myself. _He's a demon. A __**monster**__._

**_ "Are you upset, you little bitch?"_** Dagon asks me, and the words are loud and hissed. **_"Are you upset we fucked up your little family? Again?" _**Again?

"Again? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You're a stupid kid, do you know that? **Idiot** , Our Lady set it up so that your old man was a guy Demeter would lose her damn mind over – **_moreso_** than other guys – upset enough to push her into making the decision to getting rid of your pops. **_Every_** decision, **_every_** path you've ever taken, was predetermined by **_her_**_, by __**Our**__ beautiful __**Lady**__. _**Even that little girlfriend of yours**_. __**Even your friend, Alex.**_You met Alex in juvie, but Alex had **_already _**known **_her_** a long time before that. He was a nice play-thing, and she saw an easy way to get to **_you_** through **_him_**. She **_knew _**you would gravitate towards him, so she had him get himself locked up in juvie, just one more time, where you could meet him. **_Fuck, Jimmy_**, even the kid with the **_shiv_** was a set-up. He was all hers; just like the rest of the guys and girls in our army. She **_fucked_**them **_all_**, just like she fucked you, but _mine_ was the cock she kept coming after. **_Mine_**_._ That is, until **_you_** took her from me. But by the time you pounded into her, she had already **_fucked all the 30,000 kids_** in the army, sometimes with five or six at once. **_Everything_** in your life was set-up to lead you to us, and we only started running into problems when **_Hades _**had to come **_fucking show up_** and **_fuck up_** **_everything_**_._ And now your slut mother has killed **_my lady _**– the **_only lady_** that matters – and I don't have purpose, once again. Your family has removed my _soul,_ Jimmy, and for that, you will **_pay_**."

"You never had a soul to begin with." Everything – **_everything_** in my life. All set up by Venus – **_even Viola_**, no matter how much I love her. **_Everyone,_** except for Hades, and now he's **_gone_**. Anger rises in my chest, and he breathes fire at me, and the heat is intense, and I feel myself burning and somewhere my mom is **_screaming_** for me, but I'm alive, and I burn him **_back_**. And he _feels_ it. He cries out like a dragon would in pain – all guttural and terrible and screaming, and staggers back, and I just get angrier.

_ Ares._

_ Zeus._

_ Hera._

_ Quetzacoatl. _

Blue eyes flash in front of me. _"You are good, Jim." _No, Hades; that's where you're wrong – I'm not good, not anymore. But I can do this, and I _will_ do this.

_Because I have to._

_Hades, dead on the ground. Dagon holding my sister. Viola being thrown. Alex dying. Folkvarthr dying. Being soiled._ This is my motivation, now. This is _my _rage, and I see Hades' face, and my dad's and I love them just the same, because one was my father by blood, and one was my father, because_ he_ _was_ **_my father_**. The sky turns blinding blue and white, and people are screaming, and as I jump, up, up, up, all the way to Dagon's horrible dragon-face, and use my poisoned sword – Hades' sword; the one he gave me – and bring aether down with it, plunge the blade down, past the hard, golden scales, even as he breathes fire and hatred on me and claws at me and I'm fucking bleeding and I'm being _torn apart_, and the pain is **_real_**, but the sword is a part of my arm, and **_I will not_** let go. I drive it down, deeper, and use the blue, scorching lighting of the aether to drive me down his scaly abdomen, and I open him up, just like the way he killed Zeus; and there's yelling and screaming, and the heat of blood and the cold sting of the rain, because the cold makes you think and the heat gives you rage. I'm on fire; completely on fire, from his blue flames, and from my lighting, and I send a blue tendril from the sky to plunge into his chest and **_tear his fucking heart out._** The whole time, he breathes fire, and the world melts and my body feels like it's dying. I'm fucking **_overheated_**; burning from inside out, and when I think of Venus, and Viola and Hades, something in me explodes, and I feel like I'm being ripped apart again, only this time, at the small scales – quarks from protons and neutrons and electrons, protons and neutrons and electrons from each other, molecules from other molecules; the very building blocks of life, taken from me, except my consciousness, which only sees white, white_, white_, blinding light.

And then, past the whitest of the white light, I see space, and I'm traveling through it; past galaxies and nebulas and planets, going further and further than I've ever wanted to see until, finally, finally – there is an end; at the edge at the end of time, on a different plane, there is an end, and I am **_stopped there_**.

I am sitting down, now; physically solid, and when I look out, I can see winged creatures flying over a blindingly white city. Wait, no. Not white – silver.

"Sorry about the way I brought you here, Jim." I recognize that voice. When I turn my head, my moth drops. The glasses the salt and pepper gray hair; the big pot-belly and rosy cheeks. My fucking substitute English teacher. "_Mr. Costigan?_"

He laughs, jovially, taking a seat in front of me. "I'm afraid that's not really my name, Jim. I picked a form on Earth I thought would be easy to blend in, and one you would be able to easily recognize. For you to see me as I truly am would be . . . rather unpleasant for you. You'd die. Terribly."

I really, really don't like where this is going. "Who _are _you?"

"Why, Jim," he says, smiling, and his rosy cheeks get even rosier, "I'm what you would call the Creator. Simply put, I'm God. "

Oh, okay, makes sense.

Wait.

_What?_

_**Are you fucking shitting me?**_

He clicks his tongue at the back of his teeth. "Such foul language, young man. Surely your mother doesn't approve."

"She doesn't." Everything hurts, and this is fucking **_ridiculous_**, and I just want things to go back to the way they were.

He gives me a sad smile. "I'm afraid things will never be the same again, Jim."

_ Hades, dead on the ground. Dagon holding my sister. Viola being thrown. Alex dying. Folkvarthr dying. Being soiled._

I lean my head into my hands, and fucking cry like I've never cried before. "I know," I sputter, sounding pathetic and stupid and **_everything hurts_**.

He stands. "Come," he says. "Walk with me." What else is there for me to do?

We walk through the long hallway, open to the world outside. "This is the Silver City," he says, walking slightly ahead of me, "Have you ever heard of it?"

I start to shake my head, but then I realize he can't see me. In the end though, it doesn't matter, because he's _God_, and he doesn't need to _see_ me to know the truth. "I sent two of my angels down to observe the doings of the," he does air quotes, " _old gods_. Children, really; the lot of them. Impetuous _children_. But, I digress. As I was saying, I sent two of my angels to observe them, when I learned that Hades became involved in the war. Well, actually, it would be more accurate to say my interest was piqued when he found _you_."

" . . .Why?"

This time, he turns to look at me. "Hades was never supposed to exist."

_What?_ He nods. "I can see you're confused, and I apologize for that. I was quite . . ._alarmed_, I will say, when I found that this god, just sort of . . . _popped_ into existence, without my prior, erm, omnipresence knowing he was going to do so. But, such things have happened before, though . . . _rarely_. And in the other worlds I've created, there has _never_ been another Hades. He was anomaly and _still is_ an anomaly. So, I watched and observed him; saw him do things that did not coincide with what I thought would happen. Fate would put him in a position, and he saw fit to wriggle around it; away from it, and ultimately, his actions had ripple-effects that shaped the destiny of all the humans and gods in your particular world, and perhaps with more time. . .your universe."

"My brain is melting."

He nods, smiles at me. "Again, my apologies. You are only a human, after all. Learning the existence of the gods was quite the shock, I imagine."

"You have no idea." Well, I guess he does, if he really is _God_.

"I know," he says, and his smile is kind. He reminds me of Santa with his rosy cheeks and pot-belly. All he needs now is a red suit and a big, fluffy white beard and the look will be complete. He laughs out loud at that. "Ah, humans. I forgot how silly you lot could be."

I feel my cheeks flush. "Sorry. . ."

He laughs again. "Don't be, boy. I made you, after all. Now, returning to what I was saying, Hades was never . . . _planned_, you could say. I shiver at the thought if Thor or Ares were similar cases and the sort of destruction their actions could have wrought. But, for the best, Hades was . . . unique, among his pantheon. Austere, to be sure, but fair and just, with much more self-control than I had seen in a god, especially among the others of his pantheon. And when he wriggled out of Fate's grasp – except when I myself mandated that he get the Underworld – he also knocked others out from their preset destinies. Your mother, Zeus, everyone. And when the inevitable came up – the war between the new gods, and the old gods, and because of Hades' existence, and the effects his actions had, I was . . .curious, to see how everything might pan out, from his influence in the conflict."

"Curious?"

We walk over to a balcony, and the Silver City is so blinding and overwhelming that I can't look at it for long without wanting to _die_. "Yes, Jim, curious," he says. He looks at me again. "Everywhere where this war has happened, the old gods have lost, completely and totally, to my great chagrin. I can _never_ get the old gods and new gods to work together. They are children of the same womb, yet they claw at each other like **_cats_**. I can never seem to get it right. The new gods whine about _'lack of purpose,'_ when their _purpose_ is to work with the old gods, and the old gods only exacerbate the problem by acting like rich, teenaged humans with trust funds and unlimited access to their parents' wine cellar. And **_then_** the new gods get it into their heads that they can somehow defeat **_me_**, when _I am the one that __**created **__them._ And they're dumb enough to think that they can somehow force themselves into the Silver City – **Pffft**, _as if_, delusional brats. They're not _angels_; the Silver City is a place for my angels, not for my _gods_. The only way one of those fools could get in here, is if_ I_ invited them, and _brought_ them. Failed, _ingrate_ experiments, those new gods, the lot of them. And besides all that . . . **_mess, _** the greatest component, the Aether Soul – you, young man –always falls into darkness, no matter the planet or universe. All of them, except for . . ._you_ . . . you did not completely succumb."

"How can you say _that_?" _I'm a murderer. _

He nods. "Yes, nothing can change that now, I'm afraid. But it is also true that you did not completely succumb – you returned."

"Because of Hades, you're saying."

He smiles. "There's a clever boy."

"So why did you bring me here? What's the purpose of . . . all this?"

He looks up at an angel flying overhead. "Well, I saw that my_ upstart _child intervened, and your mother prayed so . . . _sweetly_ for you, I thought it might've been time for me to intervene. I usually take no real part in mortal affairs once I give them life. I give them gods to worship, and once in a while they turn to me instead; their _true _Creator, and I must say that I _do_ like the attention sometimes. But, on the off-chance that an Earthly affair – from any Earth or Earth-like planet in all the universes that exist – _has_ caught my attention, I might send my angels to investigate, and then, _perhaps_ . . . intervene, when it suits me. But, Lucifer, being the obnoxious, arrogant, upstart angel that he is, decided to go in and make things more . . . _messy_ than they should've been. I am going to give that boy **_such_** a lecture. . ." He sighs. "He used to be my favorite, did you know that?"

"I've heard."

Another sigh. "Anyways, Jim, you're here because I saw fit to intervene and bring you here. You won – the old gods won – and what's more, you did not completely _obliterate_ the new gods. The new gods are, by all accounts, a failed experiment; destroying the old gods completely, or just never doing anything at all, and withering away , on _every single planet_, and in _every single universe_ that this incident has occurred – except for yours. The only problem was that you let your rage get the better of you – if I _didn't _intervene, you could have quite possibly destroyed your entire universe, and it is actually one of my favorites. Well, alright, it _is_ my favorite, but don't tell any angels I said that to you."

"Um. Sure," I tell him, smiling awkwardly.

"And now," he says, stretching, "Comes the matter of choice. Ugh, I don't know how you humans deal with living in such meat-sack bodies. I should have thought better when designing you. Follow me, boy." I shift uncomfortably on my feet, nod.

We walk down steps and steps of a spiraling staircase , and when I think we're just about done, there's _even more_ stairs. "I know what you're wondering," he says, not bothering to look back at me. "You're wondering why I made you – why I made the Aether Soul, and humanity and other beings like humans, on other planets – oh, _they_ _exist_, to be sure; with their own gods and their own Aether Souls – you're wondering why I made the new gods, and my angels. Why do you think I did it?"

I swallow, my mouth dry. " . . . Because you could?"

He stops abruptly, and I almost run into him. He looks up at me, grins. "Partially, but why do parents have children?"

". . . I – I don't know."

His eyes are gentle. "You will, someday."

Finally, after what seems like _aeons_, we reach the bottom of the stairs. He opens the door, and inside are there three spheres: one gray, one blue, and one brown.

"What are these for?" I ask. I'm so lost and confused. _I don't know what to do. _

"Making choices, Jim."

He steps forward, moving behind the spheres. "Inside these spheres are the souls of three people you care for. Now, before you ask who they _are_, I will tell you who they are _not_. They are _not_: Alex Jacobs, Tugg Smith or Lucas Lopez. And, I'm . . . sorry to say . . . I could not salvage Folkvarthr's soul. He is . . . forever gone. They are not the souls of the gods you killed, be it Zeus or otherwise, or that man you killed at the Capitol. So, who are they?"

"Viola," I say.

"Bingo."

"My dad."

"Right again, Mr. Wells."

". . . Hades."

He grins. "Yes."

I walk closer to the spheres. They're the color of their eyes – my dad, slate gray; Hades, clear blue, shifting between winter ice and a warm sky; and Viola, a deep, beautiful brown that promises all the warmth and comfort in the world. I look back at my dad's.

"Did my dad ever love me?"

"More than life itself."

_Then why did he leave? Why did he treat my mom and me so badly?_

"He was forced."

"Forced?"

"By your goddess grandmother, Demeter. She . . . did not _approve_ . . . of your mother's relationship with your father. She forced him to leave you both in the harshest way he possibly could've, threatening that she would take you and your mother's life if he did not. In the end, she killed him. _"Gods,"_ hmmmph – _impetuous children_, the lot of them."

I don't feel angry. I don't feel anything at all. He's been dead for so long. "Is he in . . . like, a heaven?"

"No, but nor is he in a hell."

I move over to Viola's and when I touch it, it feels warm. "And Viola?"

"She is in a heaven, yes, Jim."

"And Hades?"

"He is here, in that sphere."

"Why are you letting me do this? Plenty of people die, and plenty of people have to deal with their loved ones dying."

"All very true, but most of those people are not Aether Souls. And even among those, you have triumphed. Think of it as . . . gift, of sorts."

I sit down, crossing my legs in front of them. "Why can't I pick all three?"

He sighs. "I knew you were going to ask that. I forget that you really are still only a child."

"No I'm not."

His eyes are gentle when he smiles. "Of course you're not, Jim. Regardless, you cannot pick all three. It doesn't work like that."

"Why?"

"There are rules."

"Whose rules?"

His voice is gentle, showing no signs of irritation. "My rules, of course."

"But you're _God!_ You have to follow your_ own_ rules?"

He chuckles, sitting down across from me. "Jim, if I do not follow my own rules, who will?"

_But you're God. _"I'm just a kid," I say. He's right. Of course he is. He's _God_.

"I know."

I pick up Viola's, so warm, so like her. "What happens when I pick one?"

"Well, in the case of your father and the girl, their souls will be taken from the afterlifes they are residing in, and reincarnated into new bodies. Their old bodies are gone. And they are human; they will have no memory of their past life, unlike your mother." I pick up my dad's and it's cool to the touch, like him.

"What about Hades?"

His smile grows. "Well, now, with Hades it's a different story. His body is freshly dead; if sent back, I could easily heal the wound, among . . . other ailments. He would not have to be reborn. And, of course, once you choose, I would send you back to Earth." I think about my mom, cradling his head, crying and hurting, and I think about my sister, and about how much it sucks to lose your dad, one way or the other. And I think about Viola – living in paradise and peace, and I _can't_ disturb that, no matter how much I want to be with her, and I'd _wait_ for her, you bet your ass I would . . . but she's . . . happy, now. I think about my dad, about the fact that he won't really_ be_ my dad; he'll be born, and be a little boy, and then a teenager, and a dad of some other kid, and by then . . . I may even have kids of my own. The choice is obvious.

Doesn't mean it makes things hurt any less.

I pick up the blue sphere, and it's warm and cool, just like him.

"I want my dad," I say.

"Which one?" he asks me, lifting up salt and pepper eyebrows.

"Aidoneus," I tell him, and he nods.

"As you wish, Jim. Close your eyes."

PERSEPHONE

Dagon's dragon-flesh decays and rots, sloughing off and off and off, until all that's left of him is his skinny, human form. His chest is still ripped-open, and his heart is gone, and he is _dead_, but I don't see my _son_. _Where is my boy?_

The gods, old and new, have stopped fighting. The carnage has become too great, and as I look at the new gods, I see that lots of them are . . . kids. Kids, just kids. _Genuine _kids, too. This isn't a trick of new god agelessness, no; they have the look of naivety of youth. The raining has slowed down, but I still can't see him.

"Jim," I whisper, "Where_ are_ you?"

Then, there's a soft touch on my shoulder. "Mom." And I turn, bringing him in for a hug while still holding Aria. "_Oh God, Jim, I thought I'd lost you_."

"Never, Mom," he says, kissing my cheek. "Look at Hades," he says.

HADES

"The boy picked you. I know you can't feel or do much at the moment, but rest assured, you will live. You will feel pain. Great pain – greater than your curse, greater than your leg, greater even than when Dagoneth tortured you. For this, I greatly apologize, but reattaching a soul to a body is nasty business. . .

"When you hear my voice hit the number three, you will be thrust back into your body. Again, there will be pain, and your senses will be assaulted like that of new born child's. You will see too much, feel too much, hear too much, and taste too much, and this will last for a few seconds. Be prepared. And may I say, your life is lovely. You did well. Do make sure to keep her? I'm leaving that scar on your face alone. Your wife has learned to like it quite a lot. I am doing you a favor, believe me. It's almost time now, Hades. Live a good life; I'll be watching you.

"One . . . you should start to feel your consciousness returning.

"Two . . . little, by little.

I –I?- I . . . I am starting to feel something.

"Good, Hades. Are you ready?"

Yes.

"Three."

PERSEPHONE

I look down at my husband, and nothing happens at first, but then, I hear a sharp shattering sound, and I look to where it's coming from and it's the _blade lodged in Hades' stomach_ – it breaks;**_ shatters_** into **_powder_**.

"Cronus," I say, completely stunned. "Cronus, look."

"I see," he says. "This is the work of the Creator."

And then, the wound – the thick, deep hole that runs straight through him, starts to close and _heal_. " . . .What?"

"Watch, Mom."

All the gods are surrounding us now – new and old – _staring_ at what's taking place. And then, he . . . _opens_ his eyes –

HADES

My body is burning. Every inch of it, searing and scorching and somehow it **_is _**worse than the heat of my curse. It needs to end, end, end, _end_ –

I open my eyes, see the light of the sun peeking out through the clouds and my eyes feel like they've been stabbed. I forget how to breathe, taking in too much, and my lungs expand and expand, and I must exhale, exhale,_ exhale –_

I push the air out of my lungs, and take another breath, this time, slower and more measured, and repeat the process until it slows to a manageable rate. There are voices all around me, and I see legs and feet crowding me and suddenly it's _too many people_, and my breathing starts to act up again. I can't form a word. I don't know what's happened to me. Have I died? Was I saved again? _I don't know_, and that frightens me.

_Too many people._

_Too many loud voices._

_ Too much. _

"Hey back the fuck up, okay? You're overstimulating him. I. Said. Back. The. Fuck. Up. Yeah, just like that."

I know that voice . . . "Jim?"

I have to squint my eyes, but I see him, smiling down at me brightly. "Yeah, Hades."

"Hades." There's a soft touch on my face, and it's hard to see her, but I _know_ it's her. "Persephone."

"God, it's really _you_," she says, half-weeping and half-laughing. "It has to be; Aria isn't crying anymore."

"Aria. . ."

"That's her name?" Jim asks, and I see him reach over, touch his sister's cheek. "It's pretty, like her."

I see my father with mixture of sadness and relief on his face. "Welcome back, my son."

There are other gods surrounding us; ones I do not recognize, and I realize with a start that they are new gods. They are not attacking.

"Jim, help me stand," I breathe, and he gets his arms underneath my shoulders. Though I feel extremely weak, I find that my leg does not pain me. At all.

It has stopped raining, and the light shining through clouds warms my body now, rather than hurts my eyes.

"Little brother," Hestia says, breathless. "We have . . . stopped."

I see Thor with a broken nose that is bleeding profusely, but otherwise he is unharmed, and Hel and Loki and Frigg and Freya are fine as well, with only a few cuts and bruises to their names. I spot Amaterasu, limping towards us. "The bloodshed has . . . ended."

"Yes," says Ganesh. "Somehow, it has. . ."

I spot Thanatos and Hecate as well, and my heart leaps. _They are safe. They are fine. _

A god, young – a _new god_ – steps forward. "I am Sarin . . . last in command of the new gods. We have been dwindled down to 750 of our 30,000 in number. We have lost Dagon and Our Lady, and you now possess the Aether Soul. We do not wish to continue the bloodshed. We . . . surrender, lord . . .um. I'm sorry, I don't know who you are. . ." He looks up at me, young but with heavy features and dark skin.

"This is Hades Aidoneus Clymenus Polydectes; the Unseen, Receiver of Many, Lord of the Underworld, King of the Heavens and the Seas, and Lord of all the Gods, whom you are addressing, new god scum," Thor spits.

"Thor," I say, a warning. "There is a time for harshness, and there is a time for mercy." I look back at the god – the _boy_, really – and say, "You wish to surrender?"

"Yes, Your Grace," he says, bowing his head.

"Look me in the eye when you address me, Sarin."

He looks up, nods. He looks into my eyes, doesn't break away. He speaks truth. "I believe you, Sarin, but you – and the rest of the new gods – must swear fealty and ultimate loyalty to me, and the lords and ladies of the old gods. And you must swear – on penalty of death – to _never_, **_ever_** pull this kind of shit again, do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Grace," he repeats.

"Do it now."

And they do, all kneeling to the old gods, and to me, and I know that conflict will arise in the future, but for now, as my wife takes my hand once again, clasping it tightly as if I might turn to dust in front of her; with my hand on Jim's – _our son'_s shoulder – my father's presence behind me, healthy and sound , and my daughter, no longer in fear and crying, safe in her mother's arms, I feel that things, at least for now, will be alright.

"Rise, as gods in alliance and friendship, with us." There has been too much bloodshed; too many to mourn on both sides, and we are tired. We burn our dead, while the new gods bury theirs, and the work is long and slow, taking most of the night, and it rains again until the morning. And I **_mourn_**, then, as does everyone. I mourn for Zeus and Poseidon and Hera; for Demeter, and Apollo as well, and Odin, who became something of a friend to me, and sweet Bast, and even Folkvarthr, the little beast, ever loyal and wise. But most of all, I mourn my mother, and my chest **_aches_** for all the loss. I will live, and they will not be here. That knowledge hurts the most, and I pray, to that infinitely superior being that brought me back, that they are at peace. It is all I can ask for them. When the dawn comes, the sunlight she casts the melts the clouds away, and the rain has washed the soil clean of blood, and the earth has returned to its rightful place, and when I breathe, without any pain or discomfort – anywhere – _anywhere at all_, I feel alive and at peace. And when everyone breathes, it seems like they feel the same way.

I feel a tug on my arm, and I see Hel. "Yes, Hel?"

"Pluto, may we play chess now?"

I smile, because she's been trying to get me to do this since we've met. "Yes, Hel. Let's go play chess."

It is a good way to pass the time.

* * *

A/N: Yes. Yes, I did just pull quite a _literal_ Deus ex Machina. I don't think it was completely out of context – I was leaving little bread crumbs for you guys the whole way through. I know, know – Deus ex Machina endings are *cheap* but I had this planned. Maybe that makes it worse for you, I don't know. I hope that this didn't feel like a betrayal. I know that when I read, and this happens, I usually get upset, because it's like – well, it's usually done poorly. I know my writing isn't that great, but I hope you found that this was . . . satisfactory. I know many of you want to stone me now, probably. That's OKAY. I understand where you're coming from. This is the story I wanted to tell you, and if in the end I didn't impress, or you hate me, I apologize, and I thank you for your readership regardless.

On a happier note, there is epilogue after this. :) (And if this ending already upset you, don't continue reading, because it is very VERY schmaltzy). I don't think it's Tastes Like Diabeetus level, but it's pretty fluffy, so yeah. Anyways, thank you guys. So much. Enjoy :)


	44. Epilogue

Chapter 44: Epilogue

ARIA

"Can we go in now, Aria, _can_ _we_?" It was mid-morning, around 9 o'clock, and the double-doors were closed. Aria kept her hands on her little brother Vergil's shoulders, restraining him. Mom's necklace was looped around the door handle, which only meant one thing: her parents were doing something she'd rather _not_ see. And that also meant she had to keep her overzealous little brother from trying to get in, even though he knew he wasn't supposed to.

The door to their parents' bedroom was never,_ ever_, locked you see; they kept it unlocked in case of emergencies. And by emergencies, they meant if the house was on fire; _not_, say, finding a bald eagle in the front garden, outside of the forest on their property . . . although it _was_ pretty cool. Her other younger brother, Rafe – named after her grandfather James Wells' middle name – had found the animal on one of his usual scavenges through the property heading towards the forest, and he and Vergil managed to coax the creature in walking back closer to the house.

Rafe was 10, going on 11 – he was four years younger than her, and her closest sibling in age. People – it didn't matter if they were gods or quicklings ( The "official" term used for mortal humans with no godly blood, referring to their shorter lifespans. ) - they had always said Rafe looked most like their mother, with exception, of, of course, their older brother James (And now, their younger sister, Kyra.). Rafe was the odd one of the group – not unfriendly, but not particularly close to anyone, either, except maybe Vergil, when he allowed his little brother to tag along on one of his adventures. He was the quintessential middle child, and instead of suffering in it, he reveled in it; he loved to climb the great old trees of the forest that rested on their property in Somerset Hills, New Jersey, and he would always come back late in the night with scrapes and bruises, because nigh-invulnerability came with age, and that age wouldn't be at least until they reached adulthood. They lived as well-off quicklings – not as the royalty they _were_, because their mother had lived a mortal life, once, and after the War of the Aether, no god was really the same. Things had changed.

"What about _now_, Aria?"

Aria smiled. "Not yet, Vergil." Of all her younger siblings, she preferred Vergil the most. That is _not_ to say that she did not love them all equally, oh _no_ – Dad (or "Papa," as he was called by her younger siblings, but not Aria. Aria was too old to call her father that anymore.) would have absolutely none of _that_. She remembered a night where Vergil and Kyra had a particularly bad fight over a toy or . . ._something_, Aria couldn't remember exactly _what _the argument was over, but it was _loud _and Dad had stormed into the room – not yelling, no; he _never_ yelled at his children, and sometimes, when his cold, hard fury was palpable, and he kept his voice quiet and low, she would've preferred that he _did_.

"I have _very_ important things to discuss, _children_, and you are making it _impossible_. You are brother and sister," he had said, in a voice of complete authority that commanded respect. "_Act _like it."

And then, of course, he had turned to her, gave her the hard look in his eye, only to soften his expression when she put her head down in defeat. "Aria," he had said, lowering his voice, "My little princess, I _need_ things to be quite. Tell your brother and sister Typhon is going to _eat_ them the next time they don't behave, if you have to. That'll get them to listen." He winked at her before giving her a kiss on the top of her head, and returning to the meeting that had been interrupted by her brother and sister's screaming match._ That_ incident had been about three years ago, so Vergil himself was only three, and Kyra was probably four.

Kyra was the girl-girl of her family's brood. Her hair was a dark auburn like her mother's, and her eyes were green, and she was a truly beautiful little child. She had a fantastic imagination, to boot; narrating stories of knights and their great daring and gallantness as they came to fight the evil witches that lived in a giant mushrooms and the bowls of dead dragons, below the marshes of the Louisiana swamp lands. Actually, for being such a little lady, her imagination was really quite . . . _morbid_ . . .Still, it didn't change the fact that she loved to dress in princess outfits. The fact that she truly _was_ a princess only made her love being a girly-girl even more. She played with dolls and constantly wore pink and purple dresses, and _if_ she were allowed to, you can bet she would probably watch Disney princess movies all day – all _week_ – long, without once getting bored. And, even though Kyra sometimes irritated Aria with her girlish silliness, she could not deny that the girl was sweet – for the most part. She had her moments, especially when it came to Vergil and the current baby of the family, Erika, aged three.

Vergil, Aria suspected, irritated Kyra because he was the closest to her _age_, but he was a _boy_ – and, though he was not as rough and tumble as Rafe, he _was_ his father's son in every sense of the word; in fact, Vergil was practically their father's _clone_. While Aria had been growing up, and _was_ for a _long_ while the _only_ child with her father's black hair or blue eyes, the title of "Papa's Mini-me" went to Vergil, who shared _every one_ of his features, and even some of his personality in his shyness (which some gods and quicklings perceived to be as cold frigidness in Vergil, and that was not the case; the son who _did_ have issues with that was Rafe, but Aria suspected that was also _somewhat _attributed to shyness on Rafe's part as well) and his habit of running his hands through his hair and tapping his thumbs on things when he was nervous or anxious. And perhaps Vergil **_had_** _inherited_ some of their father's personality, but what was more likely was that he had simply _learned_ it, because when he wasn't off on adventures with Rafe or Aria, he was with their father in his study; watching him, reading him, and learning him. When Aria asked what persuaded her parents to name him after the ancient Roman poet, they had smiled and said that a friend who liked to play chess had made the suggestion. Aria decided not to enquire further. She had no taste for vague answers or vagueness in general. She liked things clear and laid out, and she wanted, with every fiber of her being, to become an engineer. She liked the _solidity_ of math; of always being able to find an answer, even if several parts were missing, because it took cleverness and knowledge of technique. It is also why she _despised_ languages; she did not like the metaphorical, or the intangible – she liked the physical, the here and now.

One day, when she was doing a writing piece for English – the assignment was to write a metaphorical poem about herself – she had ended up hitting her head lightly against the desk repeatedly, in completely frustration. "My brain doesn't _do _metaphors," she complained, and her mother walked in, holding a laundry hamper – her mother absolutely _refused _to get servants, and made _everyone_ in the household who was old enough, help with washing the clothes (And yes, that included the King of the Gods. But, her father didn't seem to mind much, if at all; he liked to take care of himself and his household without the help of others; it made gave him a sense of humility and even a little bit of simultaneous pride that he could. ) . "You're going to throw a fit when you get to imaginary numbers, I can already tell," Mom said, chuckling.

"No I won't," Aria mumbled against the table.

"Oh you won't, hmmm? We'll see, Aria."

"I _won't_, because it'll be _math_."

Mom shrugged. "Fair enough. It's your turn to fold the laundry tonight. Best finish that homework soon, before dinner." Aria groaned against the table, and Mom chuckled. "I swear, you are _just _like your father sometimes."

Aria supposed that if there were another class she liked _almost_ as much as math, it would be history, because history was concrete; history was based on things that really _happened_. And in these times, knowing your history was probably more important than anything else, even math. In her short 14 years of life, she was told, the world had changed rapidly. The gods had showed themselves to humanity once again, and quicklings responded in the only way they knew how: with fear. "And they were right to be afraid," her father would tell her. "They were completely defenseless against us." But, under her father's steady hand, truces were made, alliances were formed, and friendships were eventually forged. The gods did not _rule over_ humanity – her father would not allow that, not _ever _again. The humans kept their _own_ governments, and she remembered when she was much younger, hiding behind the plush seats in the meeting room of their house, a heated exchange that occurred between her father and another god. Aria couldn't see the god's face, but she could remember his name: Balder.

"You have the _power_ to do it, Hades. _Crush _them; make them _our _slaves. We will have an endless supply of energy for all eternity. We will me_ immortal_ again."

"We have _never _been immortal, Balder. The humans will rule over themselves, as they should have always done, and _have been _doing, and _we _will act as stewards over our domains. That is what will be done, and I will hear no more of it."

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but does it not upset you that you will not be able to spend an eternity with your wife and children, now? At most, we are given, _what_, 160 years? 160 years might as well be a blink of the eye in the life of a god. And that is if we are _healthy_ – we can no longer _indulge_ in wine or women or men, or _be gods_. We are limited, thanks to that crowned, arrogant, _claymaker "Creator_." We should take all the gods and fight him, Hades. _Make_ him give us immortality back."

"Don't be _ridiculous_. The combined strength of pantheons at their peak could not hope to face the Creator. His power is insurmountable. He _is_ **_God_**. And how would we get to the Silver City? We are not _angels_, nor has he _invited _us. Go somewhere else with your folly. "

"Are those really the reasons you don't want to fight, Your Grace? Are you too much of a coward to go and face the man? Are you afraid he will make you lame again? Or do you fear _death_?"

Aria remembered, _very vividly_, that this was the first time she had ever seen her father_ truly_ angry. Of course, she had seen him get _upset_ before, and usually at some mess she made or some silly or stupid thing that she had done, but in the end he had laughed and smiled about it all. Such was _not_ the case with this particular situation. She peeked around the corner of the plush chair, to see her father stand to his full height.

"Lord Balder," her lord father had said – and in these situations, he wasn't "Papa" or even "Dad" – he _was_ their _lord_ father. " Seeing as though I have _already_ died, I have nothing to fear of dying again. The only death I fear now is that of my children's, as any father would. I would also like to point out that I was lame for 4,000 years, and though I would certainly not want to _repeat_ the experience, it is not something I fear the Creator would bother with. One thing I _do_ take umbrage with, however, Lord Balder, is of your calling me a coward. Curious . . . If I recall correctly, you were not present during the Battle of Typhon, were you? The battle where my mother, my sister, and a countless number of my friends died? The battle where_ I_ died?"

"Y-Your Grace, I –"

"In fact . . .why, _goodness_ . . ._none_ of your household was. And, me, well," she remembered her father's scar looking extra- vicious when his eyes narrowed, turned to ice, "I'm just a coward, correct? A coward that offered you amnesty for refusing to join the Alliance of Gods and fight in the war, an offense for which I could've _easily_ had your life, even before the Creator's changes, had I wished it?"

"Forgive me, Your Grace, I was simply-"

"Forgive?" her lord father asked, his voice a chilling whisper. "Perhaps I will, in time. For now, I want you **_out_** of my house."

"What about _now_?" Vergil asked. Aria laughed. Of course they couldn't go in yet; the necklace was still looped through the handles of the doors, and it's not as if one of her parents had walked out to change its state in the last five minutes while she and Vergil were standing there. _Silly little brother,_ she thought. She heard the distinct sound of a stomach growling, and she saw Vergil start to rock back and forth on his heels impatiently. "We can go in if it's an emergency, right? Isn't this an emergency?"

Aria shook her head. "F'raid not, little man. C'mon, let's go get some food. I'll make you a grilled cheese, how does that sound?"

He looked reluctantly at the door. " . . .Okay." She smiled down at him. She took his hand, small and child-like in hers, and as they were about to make their leave, she heard Kyra shouting. "Stop her, Big Sister! She's going to Mama and Papa's room."

Uh oh. That wasn't good. The _she_ could only mean Erika, and even at three years old, the little girl managed to be the ultimate terror of the family. Not even their father, King of all the Gods, could inspire such terror. "Erika should take my job," he had teased. "She's scarier than I am." It was all a thing the family liked to joke about, but there was no denying that little Erika was the resident mischief-maker. And she was very good at getting away whenever someone was chasing her. Such was the case today; Erika had ducked under and sideways out of both Aria and Vergil's grip, and bursted through the double doors into their parents' room. Her parents, though, were very good at quickly covering themselves; Aria had discovered this years ago, by accident, of course – and she aimed to never, **_ever_** repeat the experience. _So much for lifetime goals_, she thought.

When she finally dared to open her eyes again, and uncover Vergil's, she saw that her mother was dressed in a simple nightshirt, and her father was dressed in his normal sleepwear of sweats and a t-shirt. They didn't _look_ like they had been . . ._doing_ anything that would require her to visit counseling for long-term mental scarring. Actually, come to think of it, there was wrapping on the bed for presents, and it looked like they had been putting together the last of the colorful packages. And then Aria remembered – it was her birthday. And she knew this, too –she was 15 today, and she decided would stop calling Papa, _Papa_, and start calling him _Dad; _it would be another step in her leaving childhood behind. Somehow, in going out with Vergil and Rafe to look at the injured eagle, and walking back with Vergil to the door of their parents' bedroom, she had _forgotten_ that she was 15 today, and that was why she was calling Papa, _Dad_, and **_not_**_ Papa_, in her memories in the _first_ place; to practice, to get _used_ to saying it. And, by the looks of things, they were planning a surprise birthday party for her, and she _spoiled _it. _Way to go, Aria. Way to go. _"I wanna play, too, Papa," Erika said, jumping on top of _Dad's _chest and knocking the breath out him. "_Erika, stop doing that to your father_," Mom chided. The little girl stopped, looking completely confused, and Aria walked in, without saying a word, picked up her little sister, and started to leave the room with Vergil in hand, but he pulled from her. He was going to tell them about the eagle that he and Rafe found.

"We found this huge eagle, Papa. _Huge_. As big as, as big, as big as – as, _Thor_!" Vergil explained excitedly.

And **_Dad_** smiled. "Did you now, Vergil?"

"Yeah, Papa! Rafe says its wing is broken – can you fix it? Can you? He looks so hurt. Please, Papa? _Pleeeeassseee?_"

And he was **_Dad_** now – not her _lord father_ or _Papa_, because she wasn't a little kid anymore. He was Dad, and Dad put his hand on his chin, looked up in contemplation. "_Pleaaaseee_, Papa?"

"Well, when you put it like that . . ."

"Yes!" Vergil squeaked, kissing Dad on the top of his head, and Aria waited for her little brother to grab her hand again. Once he did, she started to turn, but her father's voice stopped her.

"Aria," he said, gentle and soft. "I'm sorry that the surprise is ruined, but here," he tossed her a bag, and it had the jacket she'd been asking him to get for her for over a year. He smiled. "The first of your presents for the day." However wealthy and powerful they were, her mother did not let her children become spoiled; they got gifts on their birthdays, and perhaps on other special occasions, but then and _only _then. "Children like you, with money and power and… **_powers_**, need to learn humility and character," she would always say, especially when Kyra would complain about not getting another toy.

"Thanks, Dad," she said, smiling.

"So I'm 'Dad' now, is that it?"

She nodded, smiling. She told him already – she was 14 years old – goodness, now 15! The Days of "Papa" were long over; this was the official first day of the Days of "Dad."

"Jim calls you 'Dad,' _Dad_."

He smiled at her. "Jim's coming."

"He _is_?" Vergil squeaked.

Aria had to admit, she missed her older brother. "Cool," she said, and her smile grew bigger. "I've missed the dork."

Dad shook his head, grinning, "Happy Birthday, my little princess." Aria heard her mother chuckle, and she flushed bright red.

* * *

Later on that day, when the doorbell rang, Vergil and Kyra and Rafe all but sprinted towards the window (Erika preferred to hide in the small alcoves of the house to pounce on their oldest brother whenever he visited) and being 15 now, Aria was_ beyond_ such foolishness. (She liked to think so, anyway). But then, when Dad – not lord father, or _Papa_, but _Dad_ (In the back of her mind, she knew that if she wasn't careful, she'd let slip "Papa.") – when Dad opened the door, and Jim was there, tall and handsome, and her siblings attacked him in a rush – even Rafe – (And not Erika – not yet; she's waiting, the mischievous little thing . . .) Aria couldn't help but join them. He gave her a kiss on her cheek, and lifted her up in the air, spinning her. "And how old is my baby sister today? 12? No, that can't be it – 9, right?"

"I'm 15, Jim," she laughed, even as he set her down. He laughed. "15 already? Wow, I must be getting really fu – uh, sorry, Mom – _really_, really old."

"You're only 31, Jimbo," Dad said, chuckling. "You don't know what age is."

"True, true."

And then Jim's wife stepped in, beautiful and radiant as always, with dark, golden skin and brown luscious hair. Aria had always admired her, from the very first moment Aolani and her brother started dating. She was the demigod daughter of a Polynesian goddess, completely gorgeous in every way. "And how are you, darling?" Dad asked, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. Her full lips pulled into a smile. "I'm doing very well, Your Grace." And then Mom touched Dad's shoulder, said her hellos to both Jim and Aolani. "Hades, is your father going to be here?" He shook his head. "I don't know. It's unlike my father to be late. . ."

And then Cronus' gruff voice came from behind Jim and Aolani, and Aria knew her grumpy grandfather would be here too. "Don't insult me, Aidoneus. I am the Titan of Time – I am _never _late." _Now_ Grandfather was looking rather old – most of his black hair had turned salt and pepper gray, but he still looked strong, and that made Aria happy. "Here, Aria," he said, giving her a gruff smile along with a song book from The Rolling Stones. "Your mother tells me you play piano and enjoy singing. I thought you might like this." She did. She really, really did. "Thank you, Grandfather," she said, giving him a kiss on his cheek, covered in a gray, fluffy beard, and he smiled awkwardly at her.

"Dinner's ready," Hestia's warm voice said from behind them. "Everyone is here, I take it?" And Dad nodded, and she stayed with him as he shut the door, watching the injured eagle that he couldn't seem to help, no matter how much he tried. His eyebrows creased up in worry, and she has never seen her father look so unsure before.

"Papa?" Aria asked, and _damn_, it's a slip.

Her voice broke him out of his reverie, and he shut the door. He didn't comment on the fact that she slipped and called him "Papa."

"Is there something wrong, Dad?"

He wrapped his strong arm over her shoulder. "No, no I don't think so, Aria. Come on; let's enjoy your birthday feast."

And Aria knew about the past – all the horrors and battles and death, because she could see it written all over her father's face sometimes, and in that moment, she remembered the single best thing he had ever said to her, which she did her best to emulate ( with varying results): Take _nothing_ for granted.

She remembered that advice, even as Erika pounced on her leg while she was trying to get to the dining room; remembered it Erika pulled on Kyra's hair and made it look like Vergil did it, and the two started a food fight, in which a piece of dark velvet cake had made it onto her father's face, and he was **_not_** amused (but only for about a minute, until he started to chuckle, and joined in on the fun); and she remembered it when she thought of the eagle with the broken wing.

_Take nothing for granted. _

THE END.

* * *

a/n: I hope you all enjoyed this. I apologize if it was, like, to schmaltzy – I can see this chapter irritating people, but I kept some foreboding, however very light. I put these characters through hell – I think they earned their happy ending, wouldn't you say so? Anyways, I may do ficlets with the family in the future, I've decided; nothing EPIC or long; just cute little drabbles. Ya'll would have to give me the prompts, though, okay? I'd fill them for you; likely, with the kids, the narration would be third-person limited like how I had here, to show they are connected to the story proper, but are their own entities. So, if people give me prompts, I will fill them. :) As for now, though, this is the end. Like I said, I won't be doing epic fics – at least, not for a while (leaning on a few years here) My life is about to switch gears, drastically. And no, it's not because of a kid. :) Just know it is a very positive change, and writing long fics, while cathartic, are also a distraction. Again, I'll probably come back and fix the technical/ plot problems and republish in the future, but that won't be for a long while. So thank you for reading this, and God Bless.


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